Building a Mystery
by StBridgit
Summary: Avoidance of death provides a powerful impetus for Lord Voldemort to use more than one method to stay alive. If the Horcruxes were not his final play, what would happen? Would it be worth the price he will pay? Hermione finds herself out of place and out of time. What will she do when there is nowhere to run? A Tomione pairing that morphs into LV/Hermione. Reviews welcome!
1. A Twist of Fate

**Okay, welcome to my new story. I will do my best to update frequently, but work is still busy. **

**Mandatory disclaimer: I own nothing except my original plot and any original characters. Many thanks to JKR for the HP universe in which I play. **

**A couple of things to know from the get-go: one, I am trying to be as canon-compliant as possible, but as this is a time travel fic, things will unravel from the traditional canon, in ways that support the story-including the ending. Two, Lord Voldemort/Tom Riddle is not going to become "nice" in this fic. He will manipulate and hurt people, including Hermione. However, that is not ALL he will do or be. Three, the story will contain both Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort interacting with Hermione. If you are fascinated by one and not the other (i.e. pre- and post-Horcrux creation), you should know that both will be in this story to a large degree. Four, I am not going to explain every deviation from canon apart from the natural progression and pacing of the story. I dislike using author's notes to explain if I can help it, because I think the story should speak for itself. **

**This story began because I thought Lord Voldemort/Tom Riddle, despite his amazing backstory in the books, was not a very multidimensional character, and in fact was sort of the trademark "panto" villain. You are, of course, free to disagree with me (although this isn't the forum for that discussion), but I wanted to really play with him as a character. He was perfect in canon in this role, but seeing a great actor like Fiennes portray him, and reading interviews where he talked about how he played him, really made me want to write him as more, to give him more places to go. Hermione is a natural antagonist, and I wondered how she would do on her own against him, and if she wasn't the perfect foil to draw out other parts of his character. **

**No idea as to length, but I'm thinking probably about the same as my Hermione/Lucius pairing, "In the Name of Science", which clocked in at about 160k words. I'm pretty sure I'm not doing Nanowrimo this month for a whole host of reasons (work being chief among them), so my creative output will be focused here. I'll be blunt-I will post more often if I get lots of reviews. I've read member profiles who say things like, "it's rude to hold a story hostage for reviews"...well, to my mind it's rude to not review a story you're following at least a few times in exchange for all the hard work the author puts into it. Honestly, I finish stories for the dedicated reviewers. They are the ones who make it worthwhile.**

**I will try to reply to all reviews either in author's notes at the beginning of new chapters or via private message. I can't tell what the preference is on the site so I will use either/or. I still have a Dramione Veela fanfic rattling in my brain, so I make no promises to not work on that a bit too if I'm feeling particularly stumped here. I will also do my best to finish this in a timely manner. I find it frustrating when authors sort of forget about stories for ages and come back, like you, the reader, won't be pissed off about it. So I try not to do that to you. **

**Ok, here we go! Do let me know what you think of the start to Hermione's adventure. Thank you for reading!**

* * *

Flashes of light everywhere combined with shrieks of pain and the incessant rumble of stone walls crumbling as spells impacted stone, shattering Hogwarts into pieces. It was absolute chaos, Death Eaters dueling fiercely with Order members and the student population at large. Hermione dodged a curse and immobilized a Death Eater as a suit of armor sprinted past, its target an acromantula that was trying to sneak through a gap in the walls.

"This way!" Ron shouted, and Hermione followed him toward the Great Hall. They had to battle past duels, but the sight before them when they arrived stunned them. Lord Voldemort was dueling Flitwick, Slughorn, and McGonagall simultaneously, almost taunting them. Several times Hermione was sure that he was about to strike one of them down, but miraculously they avoided death. Ron flicked a Death Eater away from them, Hermione holding their shield. Others, too, were stopping to watch, especially as Harry drew to the edge of the skirmish and called Lord Voldemort's attention to himself.

Hermione's breath caught as Lord Voldemort finally engaged Harry in a duel. This was it, what they had all been waiting for. Slowly but surely, the other duels in the room ceased as everyone watched the Dark Lord battle his nemesis. Hermione and Ron had drawn closer, certain that Harry was about to finish him.

"Go on…give it a try." Harry was taunting Lord Voldemort now, whose eyes narrowed. Unbelievably his attention moved from Harry…to _her_. He moved, casting a spell and something else. Hermione felt a sharp pain in her shoulder. The world began to whirl in front of her eyes, and she dimly heard Ron shouting her name.

"Hermione! Hermione!"

She felt nothing as the whirling vortex of pain dropped through her stomach, taking her with it.

* * *

Darkness. Hermione opened her eyes to utter darkness, her light starved retinas not able to make out anything. She whimpered, remembering the pain that had encompassed her before the sheer blackness, and thankfully a figure rustled in the dark, the dim light of a wand tip bobbing toward her, a welcome beacon in the unrelenting black.

"Hush, dearie. You're safe and whole now, just take this like a good girl," the witch said cheerfully, and Hermione drank the bitter tasting potion. Her mind was swimming as she vaguely felt the woman patting her hand.

"Madame Pomfrey, is everyone okay?" Hermione could not remember what had happened, images of spells, people falling, shouting…

"It will all be fine, dear. Rest now."

Hermione's eyes closed, the darkness in her mind worse than the blank darkness in the room. The Dreamless Sleep took hold and she was out again.

When she woke, the weak rays of the sun told her it was very late in the day. She slowly sat up, her head spinning a bit, and looked around. The infirmary was empty except for her, which was more than troubling. Where were the rest of the victims? Had she slept so long? Slowly several other things occurred to her: when had the walls been painted that sickly green color? The beds were all gunmetal grey, and the shades on the windows were gone, long white curtains streaming in their place.

"Oh, you're awake!" Hermione saw the matron bustling forward, the familiar wimple looking terribly _wrong_ around a thin, if cheerful, face. "Now, could you tell me your name please? It's for the records, and I'm afraid you were in no state to tell us when you were brought in last night."

"Where am I?" Hermione asked, knowing she was at Hogwarts but needing time to _think_. What had happened?

"You're at Hogwarts School, dear. I don't know how you got through the wards, but you were quite a mess when you arrived—covered in blood and lacerations, some severe internal bleeding too. Now, what is your name?"

The woman was kind but firm, and Hermione's head was spinning. "Hermione…" she whispered, and the woman clucked and wrote it on the parchment with her quill. "Last name?"

"Oh, good. I'm glad our guest has woken, Madame Duvalle. How are you doing, Miss…?"

Hermione's head swiveled to see the auburn haired man in garish robes approaching her bedside. She had to blink back tears as she looked at her former Headmaster, very much alive but also very young!

"Excuse me, Professor Dumbledore, but there has been a terrible mistake. I must speak with you alone," she whispered, aware of the matron's curious eyes.

"Of course, Miss…what is your last name?" The professor peered at her over his half-moon spectacles, frank curiosity in his face. A few strands of gray peeked through his hair at his temples, a spectacular burnt orange set of robes making him look like a living flame. Hermione choked back half a laugh when she thought he looked like his phoenix on a burn day, her thoughts turning desperate as she realized she had been sent back in time by some decades.

"Call me Hermione, please," she said, aware that he was studying her as if she were under one of his magical magnifying glasses.

"Madame Duvalle, perhaps you would be so kind as to fetch a calming draught while I talk with Hermione?" Dumbledore said, settling himself gracefully on a chair next to her bed. The matron murmured her acquiescence and left them alone.

"Now, perhaps you could explain to me why you know my name," Dumbledore said patiently, certain he would be interested in what the young witch had to say.

"If I may ask, sir, what year is it?" Hermione asked, her heart thudding nervously. Albus sat back and stroked his beard. This question said a lot about what she had likely just experienced.

"Today is September 8th, 1944. Now, let me ask you a question in turn: in what year were you born?" His blue eyes glittered, but his expression was still kind, and Hermione knew why so many felt Albus Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of his time. His mind had moved to the right conclusion the second she had asked about the year.

"I was born on September 19th, 1979," Hermione whispered, as Madame Duvalle was approaching again with the calming drought.

"Hmmm, perhaps that is not necessary now, Madame. Hermione seems to have calmed down. Maybe some tea and soup?" Dumbledore's relaxed countenance and happy smile took some of the frown off of the matron's face, and she sniffed and turned back around to put the potion back in the infirmary stores and to order the repast from a house elf.

"There now, dear, there is some more time. Now, you are from the future, and obviously you know me then. I presume you are a student at Hogwarts?"

Hermione nodded. "I think it is best if I don't use my real last name…it's too late for the first name, I suppose."

Professor Dumbledore replied quickly, "Well, that is probably for the best, as you are already used to your name and it will make it easier for you to answer when spoken to. But for the last name, I do think it wisest to use a different name. Are you Muggle-born, my dear?"

"Yes," Hermione said, and Dumbledore frowned.

"Well, that makes it more difficult, but I think for your own safety you had best pretend to be a halfblood while you are in this time. For a good name, I suggest something French. We will say you have escaped from Grindelwald's rampages, and your parents were killed. Perhaps an obscure relation in England would help…yes, we will say you are related distantly to me by blood, my second cousin's child. Your last name will be Girard. And, my dear, I hardly think I need warn you of the consequences of messing with the timeline. The less you do to change whatever you may know will happen in the future, the better. I don't suppose you remember how you came to get here?"

He paused and Hermione shook her head, tears threatening. Professor Dumbledore smiled kindly and continued, "I will see what I can find out about time traveling. I have a few friends who may be able to offer assistance."

Albus had been speaking quietly, but he was well aware that Madame Duvalle was drawing near again, and he preempted the matron's questions by taking Hermione's hand in his own and turning around to speak. "Madame Duvalle, please allow me to properly introduce Miss Hermione Girard. It turns out that Miss Girard is a distant relation of mine, the child of one of my second cousins. Unfortunately, Miss Girard has just lost her parents in France..." Dumbledore trailed off meaningfully and raised his eyebrows, and Madame Duvalle seemed to take his meaning and draw the appropriate conclusions.

"Oh, my poor dear! I'm so very sorry." The matron bowed her head, tsking under her breath.

Hermione could not help the tears that sprang to her eyes as she considered her real parents, very much alive but utterly unreachable, and therefore as good as dead until she could make it back to her own time.

"There now, duck, don't cry," Madame Duvalle said, pressing a clean handkerchief into Hermione's hand. "Albus, don't upset her by speaking of it. She must have been through so much."

"Yes, I think Miss Girard needs a day of rest and some nourishment, Madame. She and I will speak again after dinner, and I will speak to Headmaster Dippet about her enrollment. Miss Girard was a seventh year student at Beauxbatons, weren't you dear? I seem to recall something about that from a Christmas letter…" Albus trailed off helpfully, and Hermione nodded.

"Yes, I am a seventh year student," she concurred, her head whirling as she tried to assimilate her new background.

"I shall look forward to chatting to you more after dinner then, Hermione. We can clear up more of the details of your schooling and future then," Dumbledore said, and Hermione knew he was referring to her backstory. She was not sure how up to par her French would be, but she doubted anyone would ask her to speak it much, and she had enough to get by from her Muggle school before Hogwarts. She thanked her parents silently for sending her to a challenging public school! Dumbledore patted her hand and stood, watching Madame Duvalle take the tray from a house elf.

"Thank you Professor," Hermione said sincerely, and Dumbledore nodded, then turned to leave. He had to speak to the headmaster quickly, before the news of the girl's arrival made the rounds of the school. Since yesterday was the start of term, her bloody arrival had gone nearly unnoticed as the Feast had been well underway at that time. However, it would take only one student with a minor injury for the news to spread, and Professor Dumbledore wanted to ensure that Hermione's alibi was well in place before that happened.

* * *

Hermione was eating the last of her soup, having found herself quite hungry, when there was a noise and bustle at the door, and a tall young man entered, escorting what looked to be a first year. The matron hurried over, her wand at the ready.

"Madame Duvalle, Mister Hesley here attempted to ride a broom into the Great Hall for dinner. I believe he may have broken his arm when he fell off."

The young man's voice was wry, and as the nurse started chiding the boy, whose tears were making large tracks down his face. The older boy, obviously a prefect or something, looked around and met Hermione's eyes, surprise registering on his face before it was quickly banked. Something about his reaction put her off, but her head hurt and she couldn't quite put her finger on why. He began walking toward her, throwing a casual glance over his shoulder to be sure Madame Duvalle was busy with the boy as he approached her bed.

"Hello. I don't believe I know you," he said politely, although Hermione noticed he didn't introduce himself.

"No, I don't suppose you do. I only arrived last night," she said pertly, giving him the same courtesy he had extended to her. He raised a dark eyebrow at her, clearly registering her silent disapproval of his lack of manners.

"Oh? I wasn't aware that we were expecting any late arrivals," he replied, taking stock of her. She had been healed of her injuries from the evening before, but that didn't mean anything. He wondered who exactly she was, the broken state in which she had arrived perfectly known to him. He fingered the blank parchment in his pocket that he had taken from her still form when she arrived, along with the small dagger that had pinned it to her body.

"I don't expect they would announce it to students," she said pointedly, which caused his lips to quirk slightly in dry amusement.

"You must be new," he announced swiftly. "I'm sure you'll learn soon enough that I am to be respected, Miss…?"

"Tom! Leave Miss Girard alone, there will be time enough to meet her once she's been Sorted and her accommodations arranged. Shoo, out with you! She needs her rest!" Madame Duvalle, having administered Skele-Gro to the unfortunate Hesley and tucked him into a bed, was back to ensure her first charge was not harassed by the Head Boy's curiosity.

"Of course, Madame Duvalle," Tom said, bowing his head neatly. "I was only curious to make the acquaintance of our newest student. Miss Girard, I look forward to furthering our acquaintance," he said.

"Likewise, _Tom_," Hermione replied, assuring him that he had not entirely won their battle of wills despite his underhanded acquisition of her last name. He bowed his head briefly and exited the infirmary in a swirl of robes, and Hermione turned her attention to the matron.

"Who was that?" she asked, her mind still muddled. Tom, why was that name familiar?

Madame Duvalle flicked her wand, summoning a nightgown and a privacy screen for Hermione, helping her stand when she was a bit dizzy. "Oh, that would be our Head Boy, Tom Riddle. He's a very good student, and terribly helpful too! But I wouldn't set my sights on him if I were you, Miss Girard. No, our Head Boy isn't too interested in a steady girlfriend. More's the pity, too—he's an excellent catch!"

Hermione felt a chill sweep over her body, all the fuzziness gone from her head in an instant. Tom Marvolo Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort. The shiver that passed through her was not feigned, and Madame Duvalle clucked like a mother hen, dressing her with a few waves of her wand and tucking her back into bed, then Summoning another Dreamless Sleep potion.

"Now, none of that, you need it, you do. Your chat with Professor Dumbledore and Sorting can wait for the morning! You're as cold as ice!"

Hermione couldn't stop shivering. She had just challenged Lord Voldemort, and drawn his attention to boot! She was still fretting about it as the potion took effect.

The next morning, Hermione found herself being escorted from the infirmary by Professor Dumbledore to the Headmaster's office. He had eaten breakfast with her, going over their 'family' ties in a way that gave her a very convincing backstory for those curious enough to probe. Apparently Professor Dumbledore had a plethora of second cousins, if very little in the way of nuclear family left. He had chosen an obscure female cousin, Mathilda Dumbledore, as her prospective mother, and a fictitious Henri Girard as her father. Dumbledore assured her that the _real_ Mathilda was off in the Amazon somewhere, but the family had not heard from her in years, and, "I suspect a Lethifold has gotten her, poor dear…"

He had been delighted that her French was passable enough, and the fact that her mother had been English was adequate explanation for her lack of a French accent. Of course she knew very little about Beauxbatons, but Dumbledore was able to drop enough specific hints in the stories he recounted of his visits there that Hermione felt confident she would be able to pass for someone with familiarity with the smaller school.

"Now, Armando is not particularly fastidious, but I would caution you not to get on his bad side. He can be quite a stickler when it comes to rules and social expectations," Professor Dumbledore cautioned her as they rode the spiral staircase up.

"Oh, I intend to stay out of trouble, I assure you. I was a Prefect and the top of my class," Hermione said, and Albus simply grinned at her.

"Excellent, my dear. Let us hope the Sorting Hat places you in the same house, for I think I know which one you occupied!" He placed a finger alongside his nose in a mannerism that reminded Hermione of Slughorn, but all thoughts of her previous professors was shoved aside as she was introduced to Headmaster Dippet. He was thin, with a long white beard and brown eyes that were shrewdly appraising but kind enough.

"Now, Miss Girard, Albus tells me you are related! Well, I am glad you have someone here, yes. Terribly sad circumstances under which to come to Hogwarts, but I hope you shall be very happy here and do your relations proud."

Hermione shook his hand firmly and glanced briefly at Professor Dumbledore. "Thank you sir. I am happy to be safely here among friends."

The headmaster seemed to approve of that, and stood back to Summon a stool for her Sorting. Hermione sat on the indicated stool, taking a deep breath as the headmaster pulled the Sorting Hat from a shelf and approached her with it.

'_Ah, I have seen you before, but you are not where you should be! Hmmm, a time traveler, I have not seen this type of problem for a while…you were perfectly suited for Gryffindor, but this is a different age, Hermione Granger, and you have to cultivate a different set of skills to do well here, yes you will…Shall it be Ravenclaw or Slytherin?_'

_Oh please not Slytherin, I couldn't handle being so close to **him**, _Hermione thought furiously, determined to talk back to the Hat as Harry said he had done.

'_You refer to Tom Riddle…yes, a difficult boy, almost a man now I expect…hmmm he might give you a hard time but I think you can handle him…'_

_I said NO_, Hermione thought loudly, and the Hat chuckled in her ear.

_'Really don't like him, do you? Well you must know more than me dearie, and I have to say you have the brains for it, so…'_

"RAVENCLAW!" The Hat's loud cry engendered nothing but relief in Hermione, although she could see Professor Dumbledore was disappointed that she was not placed into his House, and Headmaster Dippet was eyeing her speculatively.

"Hmmm, interesting! We don't have many female Ravenclaws, they don't seem to be want anyone to think they have brains," Dippet chuckled. "Well, good luck to you, Miss Girard, and I hope I won't see you in my office anytime soon!"

Recognizing a dismissal when she heard one, she went along with Professor Dumbledore, who pretended to point out the routes to various classes for her so she would have something to point to regarding her familiarity with the castle.

"Your Head of House is Herbert Beery, the Herbology professor. I trust you will have no trouble with the riddle for entry to your common room…ah, here we are." Professor Dumbledore had paused before an eagle knocker, which opened both eyes to look at Hermione.

'_I can be stolen or given away, but you cannot live without me. What am I?'_

"My heart," Hermione answered, "Although a good case could be made for my breath as well."

The door swung open, and Professor Dumbledore entered before her. A few students were lounging about the common room, and they were frankly curious in their appraisals as Professor Dumbledore gestured to the stairs to the left of the common room.

"There you will find the Girls' Dormitory, Miss Girard. You have been placed in the last room on the left. Although I am certain you will wish to purchase other things on the next Hogsmeade visit, your trunk with your school supplies awaits. Here is your class schedule, as agreed by the Headmaster."

Hermione perused the slip briefly, satisfied that she was taking all the classes she would have liked. "Thank you, sir."

"I'm afraid that the seventh year prefects are both in class, but—" Professor Dumbledore gestured to a tall, chubby boy, who came walking over. "This is Marcus Aurelius, a sixth year prefect. Marcus, allow me to introduce Miss Hermione Girard, a transfer student from Beauxbatons Academy. She has just been sorted into your House, and is a seventh year. I believe she has Potions next. Would you be so kind as to direct her to the dungeons before your next class?"

"Of course, Professor," the boy replied, taking in Hermione's appearance with a bit of interest. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Girard."

"And I, you," Hermione said politely, shaking the boy's limp hand. Dumbledore beamed at them and turned to Hermione.

"Indeed, Miss Girard. Welcome to Hogwarts, and I will see you in class."

With that Professor Dumbledore bowed and left the common room. Hermione felt the frank stares of the few other students, and Marcus cleared his throat. Hermione consulted her schedule and said, "Well, um, I'd best gather my supplies before Potions. If you will excuse me…I will be back fifteen minutes before class time, okay?"

"Of course," Marcus replied, then turned to go back to his friend when she walked toward the girls' dorm. No one else attempted to introduce themselves to her as she crossed the room. As she climbed the stairs, Hermione had never felt so lonely in her life.


	2. Sparks

**articcat, I'm glad you're coming along for the ride! Hope you like where I take this.**

**Welcome all who have followed this story already! Tell me what you think...what is Mr. Riddle up to? Please review!**

* * *

"Ah, Miss Girard! Welcome to Hogwarts!"

If a young Albus Dumbledore with auburn hair was a shock, the sight of Horace Slughorn was somewhat comforting. Other than a slightly smaller belly and brown hair, he looked exactly the same as he had done in her time. Hermione smiled briefly, then scanned the classroom for an empty seat. There were none save one at the large table in the front of the classroom. All of her classmates had turned to gape at her, and Hermione resisted the urge to straighten her tie or skirt. She knew she was perfectly attired, and had even transfigured a plain hair clip to possess an eagle, its spread wings helping keep her hair somewhat tamed. It was a Ravenclaw/Slytherin class, a common pairing, she was to find out. She wordlessly slid onto the empty stool, not looking at the students to her right or left, her attention fixed on Professor Slughorn.

"Yes, excellent! Now, I believe we are all here…Belsby, you were almost late, young man! Get settled, get settled, and we begin!" Slughorn clapped his hands and a list of potions ingredients appeared on the board, and the professor turned expectantly toward his class. "Now, based on the ingredients alone, who can tell me what potion we will be brewing today?"

Hermione raised her hand, and from the corner of her eye she saw at least two more hands raised at her table. She refused to look around the room to see if any other students had raised their hands, but Slughorn didn't even look at the rest of the room. His attention was firmly fixed on her table, and Hermione realized that he probably had all of his best pupils at the front.

"Tom, Phineas, and Miss Girard! Well, let's see what Miss Girard can offer, eh, gentlemen?" Slughorn said, his eyes beady and curious as he waited for her to speak.

"Those are the ingredients for the Rano potion, Professor. Its effects include relief of itching from secondary boils after burning hexes. It is believed to be more effective than burn salves for that reason, although it incorporates star grass to relieve the pain of the burn as well." Hermione's voice was clear, and she ignored the pair of eyes she could feel staring at her from her left. The other boy, Phineas, was a Ravenclaw as well, but the disapproval of Tom Riddle was practically palpable.

"Very good, Miss Girard! Five points to Ravenclaw!"He paused and flicked his wand at the board, where the instructions for brewing the potion appeared. "We will be brewing this today to restock the Hogwarts apothecary. The properly brewed potion should be a pale green with a silver gloss. You will work alone this week, but starting next month you can expect to encounter some partner projects, including your year-end project! But enough of that for today—begin!"

Hermione stood and waited with the other students to retrieve her ingredients, noting that Riddle and several other Slytherins were accorded a place at the head of the line. Of course they were. She avoided looking at the Head Boy, and instead fixed her attention on her potion. She calmly diced ingredients, wordlessly repairing a small crack in her glass stirring rod before beginning. As the first part of the potion simmered, she prepared the star grass, using her knife to shred the tough grass lengthwise.

"The instructions clearly say to chop the grass, not shred it."

The voice was arrogant and intrusive, its owner in little doubt, and Hermione steeled herself not to react too negatively. The instructions in _her_ text had been revised, and she had read the whole thing while on the run last year. It had been a way to pass the time, memorizing all the potions and their preparation.

"It works this way too," she said neutrally, and she heard a quiet snort of disapproval. She ignored him and continued her work, satisfied when the potion emitted a puff of silver-colored steam when she added the shredded grass. She was pretty sure she recognized that voice, but stole a quick glance between stirs to confirm it. Tom Riddle was indeed sitting next to her, taking the place that had formerly been occupied by a different boy. Hermione hadn't noticed as the cauldrons were being set up, but now she was acutely aware of his menacing presence. He was watching her, she was certain of it, but she kept her hand steady as she finished the thirty counter-clockwise stirs required after adding the star grass. Finished, she removed the stirring rod and turned up the heat on the potion. It should turn the pale green after three minutes of high heat. Peeking under her lashes, she saw that Riddle already had his flame up high. He worked fast, she would give him that.

Within ten minutes most students were cooling their potions, and Slughorn was walking around the room to check the colors in the cauldrons. He stopped at Tom's and she heard him say, "Excellent job as usual Tom! This will work quite well in the infirmary, capital!"

The professor then moved to look at Hermione's cauldron, which was exactly the right shade of pale green, with an almost iridescent silver shimmer on top. "I say, Miss Girard, that is stellar work! That is as good as you'd buy at a top notch private apothecary! Tell me, who was your Potions professor at Beauxbatons?"

Hermione beat around in her head for a name, and said, "Delacour, Professor. But my mother was quite an accomplished potion brewer, and she taught me a few things."

Slughorn beamed at her. "I'll say. Well, good job. You don't mind if I call you Hermione, do you?"

Hermione realized she was about to be collected to Slughorn's shelf, but nodded politely. "Not at all, Professor."

"Excellent, excellent!" Slughorn said, then moved on down the table.

"I've never heard of a Potions Master by the name of Delacour," Riddle said next to her, looking at her with a narrowed gaze.

"Would you know the names of every Potions Master?" Hermione retorted, determined not to let him upset her. If he knew of a weakness, he would slice her open like an overripe fruit. She had to be on her toes around him. It wasn't as if she hadn't the practice for it.

"No," he admitted, cocking his head as she met his eyes briefly, then returned to the job of ladling the potion into clean vials. Grateful to be done, Hermione joined the queue for the sink with her dirty cauldron and tools, keen to escape Tom Riddle's scrutiny.

* * *

The first few weeks of classes passed fairly placidly for Hermione. She earned herself a reputation, again, as being a very bright witch. She was taking Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Herbology, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Magical Theory, and Transfiguration. She flatly refused to take Household Charms, although practically every other girl in her year was in it. She knew this made her an oddity, a fact that was not helping her make friends among the girls in her house. It also did not help matters that there were only two other seventh year female Ravenclaws, neither of whom took Potions or Magical Theory.

She had started Care of Magical Creatures, but had soon realized that was a mistake. If she had thought Hagrid was reckless, Professor Kettleburn was ten times worse. He already had an artificial leg below his left knee, and he was also missing two fingers on his right hand. She was beginning to understand how Hagrid considered himself to be a cautious teacher. She was fortunately adept at shield charms, but a class dealing with a baby Norwegian Ridgeback dragon convinced her to speak to Professor Beery about dropping it. She had been one of the few in that class to avoid being burnt, again drawing Tom Riddle's attention, which just gave her added impetus to get out of the class. She had gotten into Magical Theory instead, a slight schedule change that moved her free period around. After Tom Riddle's inquisitive looks, she was working hard to give the appearance of a book smart witch who was less than capable with her wand. It was too dangerous to be the focus of Tom Riddle's curiosity.

Unfortunately for Hermione, Magical Theory was one of four combined Slytherin/Ravenclaw classes. In addition to Potions and Magical Theory, she was forced into Riddle's company in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration. Thankfully her other classes were combined with Gryffindor, excepting Herbology which was with Hufflepuff. Apparently Slytherins and Gryffindors were unlikely to duel in the Herbology greenhouses for fear of Professor Beery's wrath. Hermione settled on blue ink for today, her quill at the ready as the Magical Theory professor, Roberto Cavallo, strode into the classroom.

"Censorship!"

The chalked word appeared on the board behind Professor Cavallo, and Hermione sat up straighter. This would be an interesting topic. It was one that was not discussed in the curriculum in her time, so her attention was instantly caught as the middle-aged professor began to talk about the Ministry's current censorship policies.

"Behind me is a list of books that have been or are now currently banned by the Ministry," Professor Cavallo began as minute, looping scrawls of book titles appeared on the blackboard behind him. "Today's class will focus on the arguments used to justify banning certain books from publication, removing them from circulation, or even going so far as to burn or otherwise destroy them."

Hermione and other students tried to peer around the professor to see the complete list of titles, but he was not ready to cede the floor to his students' curiosity. "Now, today's class time will be spent copying this list, then each of you will indicate on the board which books you have read, which books you have seen copies of, and which books you know to be banned today. After everyone has had an opportunity to mark the books, we will discuss the top three in each category. Begin."

The list was long, and Hermione was surprised to see some books that she had read on the board. Everyone in the class was busy copying the list, but Hermione noticed that Tom Riddle was already done and was going up to begin marking books. She restrained a snort—as if he would _admit_ to how many of them he had probably read!

Hermione was finished copying herself soon after, and she, too, stood to begin marking the books which she had read, those she had seen, and those she knew to be banned. This last was quite tricky, as what was banned in _her_ time was likely to not be the same. She opted to go slowly and follow her classmates' lead when it came to marking those which were banned.

"Reading banned books, Miss Girard? How shocking." Tom Riddle said it quietly from behind, and Hermione looked at him in surprise, then followed his gesture to see that _The Monster Book of Monsters_ was being consistently marked as banned by her classmates. Shockingly, Visigoth Victule's _Magical Spells & Curses_ was also marked as being banned in this time. It had been one of the texts which Severus Snape had required during DADA, so it was probably a bit dark, but nothing that in her opinion justified banning it.

"You wouldn't have much room to argue," Hermione retorted, somewhat unwisely, gesturing to the many books which Tom had indicated he had read.

"Ah, but that is a privilege of the Head Boy, Miss Girard. I have access to tomes that are off limits to the rest of Hogwarts' student population. I wonder, what is your excuse?"

Their tête a tête was interrupted by Professor Cavallo, who called an end to the markings and asked everyone to take their seats once again. He studied the board, then scanned the room with an air of satisfaction.

"I want you all to know that for some of these texts, merely admitting that you have _read_ them is sufficient justification for questioning and possible imprisonment by the Ministry. I want you to think about the implications of that—if you simply read a book, you may well be thrown in jail. Now, as is my habit, we are going to have a conversation about this. I encourage you to speak up and readily share your opinions, as vivid debate is a requirement for good magical theory development. Who will start us off?"

An arrogant looking boy with nut brown hair raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Rosier, let's hear your thoughts."

"Well, sir, as we all know, there are some books which may harm you simply by you reading them. Books might possess enchantments and hidden, layered spells within the words on the page, so we cannot presume that a book is safe simply because it is 'only a book'."

"Very good point, Mr. Rosier," Professor Cavallo agreed with a nod of his head. "Anyone care to rebut Mr. Rosier's point?"

Hermione raised her hand, and began speaking at the professor's nod. "Well, sir, one presumes that the wizard or witch reading the book is prepared to deal with hidden spells, which is not an illogical assumption. Some of the books listed are written with runes or other ancient symbols, indicating that much study has to be undertaken before one could even attempt to read them, much less understand their content. Thus the authors of such books have protected the innocent, and the wizard or witch who engages in reading them is also well aware of the rationale behind the use of such ancient languages."

Professor Cavallo nodded, a spark in his eye. "Indeed, Miss Girard, you also make an excellent point. Anyone else?"

The dark haired boy from Potions who was in her house raised his hand.

"Mr. Longbottom?"

Hermione managed not to startle visibly on hearing the boy's surname, and forced herself to pay attention to what he was saying and not study his face for any resemblance to Neville.

"The practice of banning books typically involves the use of dangerous Dark magic or the misuse of spells which are best forgotten in the sands of time due to their deleterious effects on both the caster and the spell's object. Unfortunately, such practices are rarely completely effective, as the Ministry has no authority to search in individual homes, and once the notice of banning has gone up, many who own copies of the tomes will hide them away rather than see knowledge destroyed, no matter how destructive such knowledge may be."

Tom Riddle raised his hand, and the atmosphere of the class seemed to electrify as the professor nodded for him to speak. "It is a fallacy that it is possible to destroy knowledge, which is what the practice of banning or destroying books attempts to do. Witches and wizards who possess the knowledge contained in some books will always exist, and thus it is a futile exercise. The Ministry of Magic would do better to teach how to counteract the effects of Dark magic which might reside in banned books, or focus their efforts on contriving means to do so."

Hermione raised her hand again. "But surely you acknowledge that not all Dark magic has a counter-spell. As part of their charge to protect the wizarding world, is it not incumbent on them to seek to contain Dark spells that might wreak catastrophic disaster on the wizarding community?"

"Who determines what is 'catastrophic', Miss Girard?" Tom replied quickly. "Are you aware of the origins of most so-called 'Dark' spells? They exist as a form of self-protection, from a time when unscrupulous wizards and witches did not hesitate to take what did not belong to them, or punish those who opposed them. Many Dark spells were invented as a means of self-defense against those whose magical might was greater—a way to even the field, so to speak."

"But such spells could also be used by those who are more magically talented, and they could wreak unknown havoc. We need only look to Europe today to see that is the case," Hermione replied, her innate sense of justice getting the better of her.

"Ah, but Miss Girard, the wizard of whom you speak has many allies. Thus, it is not the might of one wizard alone, but rather, the emergence of an entirely new philosophy. Are you saying that such philosophical debates should be stifled before they have a full hearing in the court of public opinion?"

Tom Riddle's eyes were glittering and Hermione felt herself to have gone too far. Fortunately Professor Cavallo chose to speak up and interrupt their volleys.

"It is hardly unreasonable to expect that new ideas will have their chance for discussion," the professor said reasonably with a nod to Tom, "Likewise it is not unreasonable to expect that the Ministry will seek to limit the effects from spells which are damaging and have no known counterspells. Now, what I find most fascinating here is that all of you have read at least one banned book. Tell me, where did you encounter these tomes?"

The classroom discussion filtered away to the merits of home libraries and the presence of hidden libraries, but Hermione remained uneasy. She felt Tom Riddle's gaze on her for the rest of class.

* * *

"Penny for your thoughts," Phineas Longbottom whispered as he slid into the seat across from her in the library a week later.

Hermione had been gazing off into nothing. She had been thinking about Harry and Ron, wondering what happened to them both. She kept telling herself it was worthless to dwell on it, but her heart still ached. She had met with Professor Dumbledore yesterday, and he had informed her in his quietly settling way that she should be prepared to spend some time here. His words came back to her mind easily: _'It will not be easy to contact all who may have knowledge of this type of magic, my dear. While I hold firm in the belief that we will get you back to when you belong, it will likely take some months.'_

The quiet boy's voice snapped her back to her current reality. It was ironic that the boy before her was Neville Longbottom's grandfather, since Neville was so disastrously inept at Potions and Phineas was beautifully talented at it.

"Oh, I was thinking about the Arithmancy assignment that is due next week," Hermione lied. "I'm not sure I have the last set of equations correct."

"We can work on it together if you like," Phineas offered, and Hermione accepted. It was pleasant to have a housemate who was interested in doing his homework ahead of time. It made a welcome change from Gryffindor, that was for sure. The Ravenclaws were a studious bunch, and the only time help was sought in the common room was when a younger student was dealing with a particularly tricky problem and asked an older student for some guidance. No one expected to simply be given an answer.

In a slightly more removed part of the library, Tom Riddle was holding court over some fellow Slytherins. He sat where he could keep an eye on Miss Hermione Girard. The witch was a puzzle to him, extremely intelligent yet seemingly not interested in the more common fluff that ninety nine percent of girls her age were interested in. He had not once heard her discuss any marriage prospects, for instance, and that was hardly all the other girls who were soon to graduate could talk about. And she was amazingly proficient in Potions, more so than any other witch he knew, and incredibly book smart in DADA, even if she fumbled in practices. Even Professor Merrythought seemed puzzled by that.

He wondered again about the mysterious circumstances surrounding her arrival. It had been circulated that her parents were dead, murdered in some rampage of Grindelwald's, but she didn't act like a freshly bereaved girl. No, this was a girl who was used to taking care of herself, and he bet she'd been doing so for a while. And there was the question of her warmth toward Dumbledore, which didn't appear to be reciprocated. You'd have to be blind not to notice how they were supposedly related, but Dumbledore only paid attention to her in Transfiguration. No, there was more going on, he was sure of it.

It helped that he had been the one to find her, all bloodied and unconscious, the small but lethal looking dagger pinning a curiously blank piece of parchment to her shoulder. He had not managed to make the parchment reveal its contents yet, but he was certain he would manage it soon. He was definitely not giving up—his blood applied to it had revealed nothing, but there was a smidge of what appeared, on close inspection, to be handwriting, part of a cursive loop. Currently Tom was assuming it was because Miss Girard's blood had touched it…and that was very interesting indeed. He merely had to decide how badly he wanted to know her secrets, and the best way to ferret them out of her. It was only because he hadn't figured that part out yet that he hadn't made a move. He simply…_watched_.

"I don't see how you went from here to here, Hermione," Phineas said, and Hermione happily explained, pleased that Phineas followed her logic easily. It had been a bit like pulling teeth to work on homework with Ron or Harry.

"Well, if Swainswick would only teach it _that_ way I'm sure everyone would get it instantly," Phineas complimented her, causing a flush of color to come to Hermione's cheeks. She laughed, while across the library Tom sat back in his chair. _I wonder_…he mused, ignoring the prattle of his followers as they packed up their bookbags. He thought he might have hit upon a successful strategy for dealing with Miss Girard.


	3. Snake in the Grass

**AtlanteanDiva, thank you for the comprehensive review! I hope I can continue to offer original twists that keep you coming back for more!**

**Squishysib, I fully intend to do Lord Voldemort justice in his turn. I hope Tom keeps you entertained in the meantime. :)**

**Relatela, I find it hard to see Tom Riddle Jr. or Lord Voldemort through a 'soft' lens as I've read in other stories. Just not how I picture him. Hopefully he will live up to your expectations in all his twisted, convoluted glory.**

**articcat, this is the fun of a very early generation...I can create new characters that were unspecified and let my imagination roam a bit more freely. Enjoy them.**

**LK Hogwarts Headgirl, thank you! Sorry I do not have the patience to alternate caps in your name!**

**Thank you to all the new followers, favorites, and especially to all of you lovely reviewers! Keep them coming! Do let me know what you think. I've got a good bit of this story down so far...lovely reviews make me want to post more. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

For her part, Hermione felt relieved that Tom Riddle seemed to be more disinterested in her than anything after the first few weeks of term. He watched her, but then again, he watched everybody, and she grew more comfortable with this habit of his, convinced that she wasn't drawing his attention in any significant way. She was different from most of the other girls, but so too were the other girls in Ravenclaw, few though they may be.

She was finally warming up to her roommates, Olivia and Sophie. Sometimes Sophie seemed more suited to Slytherin, but her performance in classes indicated she was no slouch. The girls in the other houses whom she had met were just annoying. None of them were particularly interested in others' opinions, although she just overheard one sixth year Slytherin girl explaining that her "strategy" for getting a good marriage contract was to demonstrate how cunning she was by entrapping her chosen boy in front of the headmaster, who was known to be a stickler for convention and could be counted on to write a scathing letter to the parents of said boy. Hermione had walked away from the fifth floor bathroom in disgust after overhearing that, not wanting to be late for Transfiguration.

"Honestly, as if there weren't more important things to deal with…" she muttered to herself. If she didn't already know that Dumbledore would defeat Grindelwald, she would have been worried sick over the magical war that seemed to be expanding on the Continent.

"What more important things need to be dealt with, Miss Girard?" Tom Riddle's smooth voice interrupted her quiet diatribe, and she looked up to find the Head Boy far too close, looking at her expectantly.

"Oh, um, nothing. I just overheard some girls talking about something silly in the lavatory. Never mind my ranting," she said, pushing her bookbag strap further up her shoulder.

"May I? We are going to the same class, after all." Tom's voice was nothing but polite as he gestured to her bookbag, but Hermione could not fail to grasp the implications. The students were as gossipy as ever, and small gestures such as carrying someone's books were given a high value in the gossip mills.

"Um, it's okay. I've got it," Hermione said, trying for offhand but failing from the downward quirk of his brow.

"I insist," Tom said, sliding the strap away from her shoulder. Hermione had to move her hand away quickly as his fingers brushed hers. They were so warm—it was so _wrong_ for Lord Voldemort to have warmth associated with him in any way. "After all, I feel it is my duty as Head Boy to make sure you are feeling welcome, Hermione—and we are in many of the same classes."

Hermione knew in an instant that he was more interested in her than was good for her sanity or continued existence. _Say something innocuous!_ her subconscious hissed at her, and she stole a sideways glance at him as they walked and said hurriedly, "Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

Mentally she castigated herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Damn it, he'd just offered to carry her bookbag for her! Now he would think she was fishing for a date! His mouth quirked upward slightly and Hermione realized he wasn't going to let her away with it.

"As a matter of fact, I am. Are you walking there with anyone?"

"Yes," Hermione lied quickly. "A group of us are going, from Ravenclaw."

"Oh really? Who?" Tom asked.

His expression was innocent enough, but Hermione felt a dreadful sinking feeling. If she gave him names, would they wind up mysteriously hexed or ill? Could she risk it? She hadn't heard any specific rumors, but she had had enough people warn her about Tom Riddle. Her dorm mates, Olivia and Sophie, had warned her about him. Sophie had said coolly, _'Be careful about Tom Riddle, Hermione. He doesn't like to be challenged. I'd let him correct you a few times in class, just to be safe.'_

That brief conversation flitted through her brain as Hermione darted a quick glance at the tall boy beside her, the other students parting like the sea before him as they walked down the staircases.

"Phineas said he may be going…" Hermione began, but trailed off as they arrived outside the Transfiguration classroom, where their classmates were gawking at the sight of Tom Riddle carrying Hermione Girard's bag.

"There he is. Perhaps now is a good time to find out if his plans are solid," Tom said innocently, then turned his attention to her housemate. "I say, Phineas, would you join us for a moment?"

It was phrased as a question, but everyone knew it was a command. The entire class was transfixed by the scene playing out before them in the hallway. Phineas walked over bravely, but Hermione could tell that he was not happy to be the center of Tom Riddle's attention.

"Hermione was saying that some of you from Ravenclaw were planning to walk together to Hogsmeade this weekend. I asked her about it because I wanted to be sure she had company, someone to show her around. Are you going to walk Miss Girard to Hogsmeade?"

Tom didn't say outright that he had asked Hermione to go with him, but it was easily inferred by his interest in the matter. Phineas darted an apologetic look at Hermione, then looked back at Tom.

"Oh, well, I was thinking about it, but I'm not sure I will have enough of my Charms project finished in order to go…" his voice trailed off hesitantly, and he looked again at Hermione. Tom turned to Hermione and looked at her expectantly.

"I would not like for anything to happen to you on your first trip to Hogsmeade, Miss Girard. In fact, I think it would be a dereliction of my duties _not_ to accompany you."

Hermione realized she was well and truly caught, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of showing her fear, and she couldn't afford to show her dislike.

"I would be pleased if you would accompany me." She saw the glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes, as well as the fascinated stares of their classmates.

"Excellent. I will pick you up from the Ravenclaw common room at one, then."

Hermione heard the rush of whispers of her classmates as she walked into the classroom, Professor Dumbledore watching them with interest. She sought to keep a flush from her cheeks as Riddle set down her book bag for her and took his own seat with a flourish of his robes. _Damn, damn, damn!_ Hermione did not know what he was up to, but it surely wasn't good. She attempted to focus her attention on Professor Dumbledore, who had placed a box of dominoes on the table at the front of the classroom.

"Please put your texts and parchment away, you won't be needing those today. Wands only," he instructed.

Hermione had only sat through a few Transfiguration classes with Albus Dumbledore, but she could tell that his teaching style was far more dynamic than Minerva McGonagall's. Thus far he had only had them take notes twice, preferring instead to focus on practical lessons.

"Everyone send their desk to the wall, there, that's good," Professor Dumbledore said, then flicked a single word and a runic chart onto the chalkboard with his wand. "_Ligneo_. This is the spell you will be practicing today, but it will require you to work in pairs. I will team you up, now—" his wand flew and smoke arrows connected the students who would be working together. Hermione caught Professor Dumbledore's look before her arrow connected her to the Head Boy. _Why is he doing that?_

She caught Tom Riddle's skeptical gaze as it landed on her, and firmly promised herself that she would get the spell on the first try. He was so arrogant! Professor Dumbledore continued talking, and Hermione had to redirect her attention to him lest she miss what was said.

"This spell will cause your partner to grow roots and become firmly fixed in the floor of the classroom if it is performed correctly. To test you both, I will place a domino at your feet and ask that you try to completely surround it with roots. If I cannot remove the domino, you will have mastered the spell. As a bit of added fun, I will ask you to attempt to untransfigure yourselves. Allow me to demonstrate."

Professor Dumbledore waved his wand in a slightly complex pattern and transfigured his own feet, thick, large roots sprouting and a sturdy trunk emerging to his knees, keeping him fixed in place. He nodded to indicate this was the level of performance he was expecting, then performed the reversal equally effortlessly. "You may begin."

Hermione caught the domino that Dumbledore sent flying her way, flicking it to her feet without thinking about it. She watched Tom Riddle saunter over, the first few clumsy attempts of their classmates causing a brief look of derision to flicker over his face. This gave Hermione even more incentive to show him he ought not so easily disregard his peers. She wasn't sure what to expect from his spell, but he was a brilliant wizard so he'd probably get it right on his first attempt. It would be the first time she saw him cast anything as a student, so part of her was curious as to how advanced he was already.

"Ladies first," Tom said, his eyes clearly saying he didn't view her as in any way capable of causing him to sprout roots.

"If you insist," Hermione said with just a hint too much sweetness in her tone. It should have alerted the Head Boy, but he was too arrogant to think anyone capable of easily matching his facility for new spells. However, Hermione had not been a favorite student of McGonagall's for nothing. "Ligneo!"

Her wandwork was perfect, the amount of magic and intent absolutely right. Tom's calves transformed to a stout trunk of English yew, its small flaky bark perfect, the roots large and thick, completely obscuring Dumbledore's domino. Hermione watched Tom Riddle's face carefully, but he allowed no visible reaction. She thought, perhaps, that there was a brief flicker of something in his expression, but it was carefully blanked so speedily she might have imagined it.

"Excellent work, Miss Girard. My turn."

As Tom raised his wand almost lazily, Hermione realized that it was probably unwise to cast on him first, as it was clear in that split second that Tom Riddle did not do things by half measures. If she hadn't been the target of his wand, she could perhaps have appreciated how beautifully he finessed the spell, shaping it effortlessly to his taste and power.

"Ligneo." He did not even have to raise his voice, the force of his magic as guided through his wand sufficient to cause the roots of a rowan to spring effortlessly from her feet into the classroom, the trunk growing steadily up her legs, past her knees, and stopping, she knew, only because he willed it, just below her hips.

"Very good performance as usual, Mr. Riddle," Professor Dumbledore said easily, coming alongside Tom as he was casting, "But perhaps a bit too forceful. We wouldn't want Miss Girard turned into a tree in the classroom."

The Head Boy lowered his wand and nodded his acknowledgement, and Professor Dumbledore turned to Hermione with an easy smile. "And very good job to you as well, Hermione! I see I shall have to hope that my dominos are returned shortly. I will leave you both to get on with your individual tasks of restoring yourselves. Let us hope that you find it as facile a process as inflicting the spell on each other."

Hermione realized why Professor Dumbledore was so casual about their easy facility with the spell. It was far, far more difficult to reverse it, especially when attempting to do so for oneself. What had appeared effortless for Professor Dumbledore actually involved a fair amount of magic and significant effort. Hermione tried twice before she thought that she might have the hang of it. She chanced to look over at Tom Riddle, and saw that he had already reversed himself and was watching her with frank enjoyment of her situation.

"It wasn't very kind of you to extend the curse nearly to my waist," she muttered under her breath, but of course he heard her.

"Indeed it was not. I stand ready to help you reverse it if necessary, Miss Girard."

His self-satisfied tone was grating, and Hermione concentrated as she again attempted the reversal. This time, she felt the feeling returning to her legs, and focused her magic intently, using her wand to push the sensation further, further, until she saw the roots retreating, her feet emerging at last as the transfiguration faded completely away. Her knees felt as if they were about to give way, but she stubbornly remained on her feet, determined to not give the arrogant Tom Riddle anything more to crow over from their little exercise as partners.

"Very impressive, Hermione."

His tone was quiet, with an undertone she couldn't quite place, and Hermione again felt uneasy as she realized that their classmates were watching their interaction with a mix of horrified curiosity and sly fascination. Some were still attempting the Ligneo spell, and the rest were stuck on trying to reverse it. Tom followed her gaze and turned back to look at her, a tiny smirk on his mouth. She ignored him utterly through the rest of the Transfiguration lesson as Professor Dumbledore corrected poor technique, but apparently the damage had been done. By the time she had showered after a very dirty Herbology class and went into the Great Hall for dinner, the rumor mill was in full swing. Tom Riddle was _interested_ in Hermione Girard.

It was going to be a long week.

* * *

"What are you wearing to Hogsmeade, Hermione?" Olivia asked her with frank curiosity as Hermione studied the meager contents of her trunk. She would definitely have to go shopping for some more clothes while she was in Hogsmeade. Their other roommate, Sophie, had left early for Hogsmeade, but Olivia had stayed behind to help Hermione get ready. Personally Hermione thought she just wanted to see what Tom Riddle would wear on a date. She flinched at the thought of his name and once again focused on the mechanics of getting through the afternoon. Everything she had heard about him focused on House rivalries and whatever he got up to with his minions. She hadn't forgotten that he claimed Moaning Myrtle's death had been a mistake. _He's afraid of Dumbledore and just wants to keep a low profile during his final year in school_. She just had to keep her head and she would be fine.

"Blue jeans and a jumper, why?" Hermione asked, digging down to find the auburn colored jumper that was tucked at the bottom of the trunk. It was more than cool now, and the wool would keep her warm.

"That old thing? I'd wear a dress if I were going to Hogsmeade with Tom Riddle," Olivia observed. "With the sheerest stockings I could find. After all, that's what warming charms are for!"

Hermione ignored her roommate and retrieved the blue jeans she would wear. She folded the hems into wide cuffs, leaving her white socks and loafers showing. Thank goodness the Muggle war had the same knock-on effects on the wizarding world's fashions, as she would have loathed having to wear stockings and high heels daily. It was nice to be able to wear casual clothing on weekends, even if she did feel a bit guilty for not paying the slightest attention to World War II. She did know how it ended, after all, which was more than her peers could say.

"At least that's a cute blouse. Take off your jumper inside the shops!" Olivia begged, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Look, I'm not interested in Tom Riddle, nor will I ever be! He's too creepy for my taste," Hermione said, trying to dissuade her roommate's interest.

"Uh huh. Well, I overheard Professor Slughorn in the hallway talking to Professor Merrythought. He said Tom is destined for great things," Olivia replied, leaning over on her tummy to grab her wand from her nightstand.

_You have no idea_, Hermione thought to herself, pulling the jumper over her head.

"Anyway, he'd be an excellent catch. He doesn't date much, although all the girls are simply _dying_ to go out with him. I'd watch my back for stray hexes if I were you," Olivia continued, then narrowed her eyes and zapped Hermione's jumper with her wand, transfiguring it into a cardigan with horn buttons. "Much better. And for Godric's sake unbutton it!"

Hermione finished running a brush through her curls and tucked her own wand up her sleeve. "Really, Olivia! Leave my clothes alone!"

"Okay," the girl said, holding her wand up innocently. As Hermione walked out the door, her roommate tugged her backward, pressing a pair of turtleshell hair combs into her hands.

"Put these in! Your hair will blow all over the place otherwise."

Hermione realized her roommate was being practical, and quickly twisted the combs into her hair, keeping the bulk of it from her face. "There. Satisfied?"

"Quite," Olivia said with a smile. Her roommate hadn't noticed the thin sheen of the lipgloss she'd magicked on with a subtle wave of her wand. She would thank her later, she was sure.

"Good afternoon," Tom said politely as Hermione emerged from the Ravenclaw common room with Olivia on her heels, her traveling cloak over her arm.

"Hello," Hermione said, quickly subduing her purely visceral reaction to Tom Riddle in street clothes. He was wearing a plain white oxford with a sweater vest and trousers, his own cloak hanging over his arm. There was no question that he was handsome, and it was difficult to remember what he was when he was being smoothly polite. Hermione was well aware that something far darker lurked under the surface, however, and she again resolved to not be taken in by his charming act. Olivia didn't bother to conceal her interest, her eyes clearly conveying that she liked what she saw in the Head Boy.

"Shall we?" He held out his unoccupied arm for her to take, and seeing no way to say no without being rude, Hermione let him take her arm and guide her down the steps of Ravenclaw Tower, chatting easily about the fine autumn day and hoping there would be no rain during their outing as they passed other students on the stairways. Once they reached the courtyard the chill in the air began to bite, and they both began to don their cloaks.

"Allow me," he said, taking her cloak from her and settling it on her shoulders before she could protest. "Do you have a pin?"

"I'll do it," Hermione said, then waved her hand and a bronze eagle grasped the edges of her cloak together with its claws.

"Clever," he complimented as his cloak fastened itself around his neck with a silver serpent pin, the flash in the sun brief as the pin settled in place.

"Likewise," Hermione said. It was a simple transfiguration charm, but many students didn't take the time to do it properly. Somehow it didn't shock her that whatever Tom Riddle did, he did it perfectly. She thought how glad she was that he lost that knack as he got older, his quest for power driving him to lose that perfectionist edge. Or perhaps it was merely how mutilated his soul had become. She shivered, glad that it could be attributed to the chill in the air and not her thoughts.

"Let's be off then," Tom said authoritatively. "I was supposed to keep an eye on the fifth years today, but I traded with Sylvestrus Black. I'd hate for anything to spoil our time together."

Hermione wondered if this was his way of telling her that she could expect his company all afternoon, but set it from her mind immediately. She would go crazy if she spent the whole time analyzing his motives, and he would be more suspicious than ever. They were walking at a brisk pace, but Hermione took time to look around, enjoying the sight of the autumn sunshine on the lake and the red and orange leaves falling with each gust of wind.

"Do you like it here?" she asked him suddenly, disrupting the silence. "I assume you've been a student here since you were a first year."

He seemed surprised by her question, she noticed, his walk slowing slightly. "Yes, I like it here. I have learned a great deal in my time at Hogwarts."

"Yes, I'm sure," Hermione replied in a noncommittal fashion, and they lapsed into silence again. She had expected him to pepper her with questions, so this silence was puzzling. So, doing her best to ignore the boy walking beside her, Hermione instead took in the scenery. The Hogsmeade trip officially started at noon, so the path was completely deserted. Hermione was therefore surprised when Tom struck, pushing her against a beech, his hand at her waist enough to restrain her while he flicked his wand into his hand and whispered, "Legilimens!"

* * *

**I was tempted to finish this but it would have been a very long chapter if I had! Sorry for the mild cliffhanger. :)**


	4. Holding Her Own

**Relatela, 4 days running...only possible because I've got a good bit down and I'd like to catch up to my writing pace. Eventually it will slow down.**

**Kate Elizabeth Black, I didn't keep you waiting too long!**

**lalyta8, be sure to let me know what you think here.**

**Atlantean Diva, our dear Tom has many more tricks up his sleeve...as does Hermione! Perhaps antagonist was a bad choice of words, but I do believe you will see how that could apply as the story develops. She is a great foil for him. More on that later.**

**Grace Hearford, welcome aboard! Thanks for the compliments! I try to include detail and to make the supplemental characters rich enough to stand on their own and be engaging. Glad you like them thus far. Sometimes the details I use will reward digging-for example, spells of my own making I try to create from Latin, or I will try to use real references to actual artifacts, etc. **

**Ok, so as I said above, I've got a good swathe of this story already written, which is what is allowing the rapid posts. When I eventually catch up to my writing, it will probably be weekly posts? It depends on the level of crazy in work, but I try not to leave things longer than a week. Sometimes it is more frequent. However, I have a LOT already down...just not all sequential. Thus I can't really give you an estimate of when we will "catch up". How far ahead am I? Well, I have 80k words...yeah, I write fast if the story has really gotten my attention...and believe me, Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger, and the rest of the crew I've assembled on this little gem have REALLY gotten my attention! It's also great stress relief so I am letting it roll, roll, roll! I keep telling myself to slow down on the posts, but then you all review and I think to myself, "awww, they're WAITING" and then I post again. I will not PROMISE to continue posting so quickly because I don't want anyone disappointed. NO PROMISES and don't get mad at me when it slows down. **

**Right, let's get to it-what happens now? Read and review, please, I beg! Thanks!**

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Of the three members of the 'Golden Trio', Hermione was the only natural Occlumens, according to Professor Snape. Here, however, her mental shield was hastily constructed and Tom was able to swish through, zooming in on one of her earliest memories of Hogwarts. She was crying in the girls' toilet in her black robes, just before the mountain troll had gotten in. She regrouped quickly and pushed him away mentally, and he saw the layout of her dorm room instead as she brushed her hair. Hermione gasped as he pushed further, seeing her as she walked the path to Hogsmeade, Ron and Harry alongside her. Her fingers curled around the end of her wand, and she gave him a mental and physical push, casting a wordless Obliviate as she did so. Tom was too quick for her, though, deflecting it and holding his hands up, his wand easily held in his hand.

"I don't want to hex you, Hermione," he said, his tone reasonable even if his eyes hinted at further dark deeds. "Put your wand down. I merely want to…_talk_."

"You just tried to use Legilimency on me," Hermione said, her breathing faster, her wand still aimed at him. "You'll pardon me for finding your request a bit laughable."

"And _you_ are a decent Occlumens, Hermione Girard. Tell me, how is it that a teenage girl has found it necessary to learn that particular art? It's not covered as a subject at any magical school." Tom was attempting to distract her, but Hermione was having none of it.

"What do you want from me?" she demanded, her wand still at the ready. She didn't know how she would fare if it came down to a duel, but based on his lightning-quick response, she was not inclined to think too highly of herself. The fact that he hadn't even bothered to raise his own wand told her he didn't view her as a threat.

"You are very mysterious, Hermione. No one knows much about you, although the Headmaster was kind enough to explain that an unfortunate _accident_ has befallen your parents, and that you are in some way related to Professor Dumbledore. As for the rest, however…I wanted to know the circumstances behind your arrival. You have some peculiar habits that intrigue me. Tell me, do you always sleep with your wand underneath your pillow?"

Hermione paled but recovered quickly, her eyes wary. "How do you know that?"

Tom sidled closer, certain now from her body language that she would not risk a duel with him. He complimented her intelligence, for she was right—she would not win, and he would be seriously displeased. "I know everything that goes on in my school, Miss Girard. You would be wise to remember that. Now, what hex did you try to throw at me? I'm quite impressed by your wordless casting."

"You deflected it. Does it really matter?" Hermione asked, slowly lowering her wand when Tom made a show of tucking his wand back into his pocket. He was once again the perfect Head Boy, his hair only slightly ruffled from the wind.

"I suppose not," he agreed amiably. Mentally he resolved to wriggle that particular memory out of her at a later date, but first he would parse what he had seen in private and dissect it. She had some familiarity with Hogwarts before attending here as a student, then, but that could be easily attributed to Dumbledore. It was unexpected that she was a good Occlumens, but it had been a bit of a gamble to try it anyway. He was confident he would be able to smooth her ruffled feathers. "Shall we continue?"

His easy gesture with his arm in the direction of Hogsmeade did not fool her. Hermione would be on her guard for the rest of the walk, and she would be sure they walked back with others. At least in the village he could try nothing too untoward, and she fell into step beside him. How long had that taken? Ten minutes? It seemed unreal, as if the gauzy filter of the '40s had been ripped away from her. She had shoved the nastiness of her own time from her mind, allowing the simpler concerns of this generation to sway her from the truth of the evil boy beside her. She resolved to not allow herself the luxury of denial again. For now, she had to make it through the rest of the afternoon, unless she was prepared to go to Dumbledore immediately. Clearly Tom Riddle wasn't as accomplished a Legilimens now as he was in the future, and she would remain on her guard around him. Weighing her options as they walked, Hermione felt the best option was to allow him to think she wasn't too bothered, then think seriously later as to whether she needed to talk to Professor Dumbledore.

"Where do you want to go?" Tom asked as they entered the village, the presence of other students and people causing some of the tension to drain from Hermione's shoulders.

"I need to buy some more clothing," Hermione said, "And I want to purchase some books."

"This way then," Tom said, taking her arm in his, a slight downturn of his brow sufficient to send two of her housemates packing when they began to approach them. He stopped at the entrance to Madame Tweaks' Robes and Sundries, and followed her in.

"If you'll excuse me," Hermione said politely but firmly, and made her way toward the witches' section of the shop. A slight quirk at the corner of his mouth demonstrated his amusement, and Tom turned to look at the dress robes in the mens' section. It wasn't as if he could afford them, yet, but it was wise to keep up on the latest mens' styles. It wouldn't do to appear twee when he graduated.

Hermione was aware of Tom's eyes flicking toward her occasionally, so she picked out a few more blouses and jumpers quickly, and two skirts in grey and navy which would suffice for parties if necessary. Her eye caught on a party dress, but she wasn't sure she wanted to splurge on such a frivolous item, and she still had to buy dress shoes and a pair of heels.

"Oh, you should try that on, dear," the sales witch said, flicking her wand at the dress form and pressing Hermione toward the dressing rooms. "It's on sale. I'm afraid the color is a bit difficult for most witches."

It was a very dark purple, the full skirt overlaid with diaphanous tulle, the bodice embroidered with black flowers, with three quarter length sleeves and a scooped neckline that showed off her collarbones and a hint of cleavage. She had to admit it looked well on her, but she really had no need of such a dress.

"Oh, I don't think I could…" Hermione began, but the sales witch shushed her.

"Don't think I haven't heard the rumors about the Head Boy's interest in you! Oh yes, you should take this, Miss Girard—save it for a special occasion, dearie!"

Hermione heard Tom calling her name, and just wanted to get out of the gown before he came back toward the dressing area. "Yes, fine, I'll take it."

"Excellent!" The witch pointed her wand at Hermione and reclothed her, leaving the cardigan off. Her blouse was a pretty apricot color, which set off her skin tone. It had been tailored with a small ruffle on the yoke and pocket, the collar's tips softened into a curve.

"There you are. Ready to move on?" Tom asked as Hermione exited the changing room, and Hermione nodded in the affirmative, glad that the sales witch had taken all of her purchases to the counter.

"I just have to pay for my things, be right out."

Tom went outside the shop to wait, and Hermione joined him a few minutes later, a small bag of shrunk purchases on her wrist.

"Get everything you need?"

"Yes, except for shoes. I think it will have to wait for another day, though, as there wasn't anything suitable there."

"I can well believe it. Usually there are a few field trips to Diagon Alley closer to the holidays, I would look there," he suggested, drawing to a stop at the door to a used bookshop that hadn't been there in Hermione's day. "This is one of my favorite bookshops. Will it do?"

Hermione thought she saw a hint of mischief in his eyes, but he held the door open, as if challenging her to go in.

"I don't see why not," Hermione replied. It was just a bookshop, after all.

Tom disappeared into the depths of the tiny store once she was perusing the volumes, apparently satisfied that she wasn't going anywhere without him. Hermione lost track of him, although she kept an ear out for his return. The books at the front of the shop were decidedly boring, full of biographies and other dribble. The middle sections were more promising, with tomes on magical theory and experiments. Hermione set aside two books to purchase, sending them to the counter with a wave of her wand. They were in fairly good nick and weren't too expensive. She made her way to the rear of the store, and now she could appreciate why it was one of Tom Riddle's favorites. There were Dark Arts books back here, and Tom was pleasantly ensconced in a plain chair, reading one with avid interest.

"Having fun?" Hermione asked pointedly, flicking her wand to silence a book that was idling out from the shelf toward her. "These are very Dark books, Riddle."

He noted her use of his last name, a clear sign of her disapproval. He leisurely stood up, his height intimidating her a bit as he intended. He was a full seven inches taller than the petite witch, a position that suited his purposes.

"Don't tell me that you're one of those who believe there are actual _differences_ in magic," he said condescendingly, and Hermione bristled at that.

"No, but I do know that intent matters when casting spells, and these are hardly innocuous!" Hermione said, studying a shelf and grabbing a title. "_Inferi and Other Creatures of the Night: How to Create and Control their Darkness_," she read, then snapped the book back in its place. "That's hardly the stuff a wizard should want to know. And wasn't that on Professor Cavallo's list of banned books?"

"Unless the wizard wants to be prepared to deal with anything that may come his way," Tom replied matter of factly, ignoring her reference to the book's banned state. He could tell she was irritated by the flash in her eyes, but she tamped it down immediately. Why did she do that, he wondered? Part of it was probably his reputation, but Hermione was hardly the type of witch to not stand up for her opinions, from what he had seen of her thus far. He looked at her and smirked when the slim volume that had moved toward her earlier began to creep forth again and she froze it with a wandless and wordless charm. _Impressive_.

"Hmmm. Interesting how that book likes you, Hermione," Tom said, placing his own book back on the shelf and reaching over her shoulder for the one that had moved toward her. "_Blood Magic Most Potente_…how fascinating."

Tom's hand unfroze the book, but it didn't seem so interested in him, almost quivering away from his touch. He lightly stroked the spine, but all of his attention was fixed firmly on Hermione. "Why would that be, I wonder?"

"I haven't the foggiest notion," Hermione replied, suppressing a shiver as Tom deftly removed the book from the shelf.

"I think I'll take it…I'm sure it's bound to be enlightening," he said, flicking it to the counter at the front of the shop, where it landed with a dull shriek. "Ready then?"

Hermione paid for her purchases and Tom paid for his, accepting a bag as the book would not take kindly to being shrunk. He offered to buy her a Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, turning to greet some of his fellow Slytherins carelessly before she could reply.

"Hello Abraxas, Evan," Tom said. "Allow to introduce my companion, Miss Hermione Girard. This is Abraxas Malfoy and Evan Rosier."

Hermione would have recognized Abraxas Malfoy without the introduction, as his patrician nose and white blond hair instantly reminded her of Draco. His hair was cut short like his grandson's, although he had a larger frame. Evan Rosier was a mystery to her, but then again she didn't make it a habit to be familiar with all Death Eaters, and there was little doubt these two were probably part of Tom's nascent forerunner group, the Knights of Walpurgis.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Hermione said coolly, earning her a cool stare in return from Malfoy. Rosier seemed to take it in stride and said, "Pleased to meet you, Miss Girard. It's been quite some time since Riddle has had a little friendly competition in class."

Tom laughed, but it appeared to Hermione that he didn't appreciate Rosier's insight. "We were just going to the Three Broomsticks for a Butterbeer before it's time to head back. Care to join us?"

"I have to collect Druella first," Abraxas said, then made a stiff little bow as he excused himself. Once they were settled in a large enough booth at the pub, Rosier got the Butterbeers while Tom chatted with Hermione about the books she had purchased. She was reluctant to make idle chitchat, but he soon drew her into an argument about Arithmancy theory.

"It's simple. Combining the matrices with the lunar phases allows you to fine tune the predictive power of the equation," Hermione said, but Tom Riddle merely raised an eyebrow.

"And it introduces the variability of the earth's progression around the sun, which in turn brings in the complicating effects of comets and passing asteroids. So you add multiple layers of equations for an increase in predictive power of roughly 0.2 times the original equation. I'll pass," Tom said scornfully.

"I can't say that I've ever found combinations of Astronomy and Arithmancy to be particularly helpful," Hermione admitted, "But I was intrigued by the discussion of using seasonal star maps to enhance the equations."

"I'm betting it's a load of rubbish," Tom said. "You'd have better luck with Divination."

"I'll take Astronomy over Divination any day. _That_ is the real rubbish," Hermione retorted, and drew back when Rosier plonked Butterbeers down in front of them both. She hadn't realized she had leaned forward like that to argue with Riddle. He sat back as well, easily including Rosier in their conversation. Hermione let them bicker, noticing that no one approached their table without implicit permission from Tom. He didn't even notice it, subtle expressions on his face easily saying it for him. Another shiver crawled down her spine. The authority sat easily on him, and she had already had a taste of his reflexes. She began to be nervous about the walk back, and excused herself to go to the toilets as Abraxas arrived with his girlfriend.

"Having a good time with Riddle, Hermione?" Her roommate Sophie was in the bathroom touching up her powder, meeting Hermione's eyes in the mirror. "He keeps interesting company, don't you think?"

"Er, yes. Actually I'm a bit tired and think I might head back soon…I don't suppose you're going to head back yourself?"

Sophie finished using her compact and slipped it into her pocket, then straightened. "If you skulk off on Tom Riddle, he will never forgive you. He's terribly gifted, if a bit cold—I'd be happy to have his interest, were I you. I wouldn't leave unless I was dragged off."

_That is precisely what I am afraid of_, Hermione thought to herself, but said nothing. A group of Slytherin girls entered the restroom and Hermione hastily finished drying her hands with a quick charm, following her dorm mate out. She was well and truly stuck, as clearly Sophie was not going to help her at all in her attempt to end her "date" early.

"Another?" Tom asked when she returned, gesturing to her half-empty drink.

"No thank you," Hermione said, attempting to turn her attention to what Abraxas was saying to Druella.

"I'm quite certain that the marriage contract will be arriving any day now," Abraxas said, then rolled his eyes at Rosier behind her back. Hermione studied the witch's face while Tom obliquely studied hers. Hermione could perceive no distinguishing features similar to Lucius in her face, and sincerely doubted Abraxas was planning to marry her.

"What, pray tell, is crawling through your mind at this minute?" Tom said quietly in her ear as he reached forward to get his Butterbeer and drain the last of it.

"Wouldn't you like to know…," Hermione muttered to herself, and Tom grinned.

"Yes, I would. It seems to me you disapprove of Miss Yaxley." Tom's voice was low, but the witch in question heard her name and her head swiveled toward Hermione, not Tom.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware we were extending pity visits to Ravenclaw's orphans now."

The girl's sharp features looked ugly with the sneer on her face, but Hermione was well prepared for this kind of bitchiness. She simply smiled sweetly and replied, "I think you have that backwards. This is a _Ravenclaw_ pity party, and I invited all of _you_."

Abraxas scowled at her and Evan, after a horrified second, burst out laughing. Tom coolly stood and said, "Well, I think it's time we headed back, Miss Girard. Abraxas, Evan, Dru."

Yet again Hermione found herself walking alone with Tom Riddle, although with clumps of students straggling back ahead of them and behind them, Hermione was fairly certain he wouldn't attempt anything again. Nonetheless, his silence was unnerving, and Hermione found herself searching about for a topic of conversation while keeping her Occlumency the strongest she could manage. She decided to go for the obvious, weighing his likely response against the safety of the busy path.

"Why have you taught yourself Legilimency?" Hermione asked after a group of Hufflepuffs passed them, darting nervous glances at Riddle as they did so.

"What makes you think I taught myself?" Tom asked. "Perhaps my father taught me. Did your father teach you Occlumency?"

Hermione realized she had to be careful, but she wasn't going to let him choose the subject, and this was interesting enough that hopefully he would want to talk about it instead of talking about her. It was also a clever way of hinting that she was not really bothered by his behavior earlier, which would hopefully ensure her safety for the remainder of the walk.

"It's not exactly the sort of thing that is commonly taught by parents to their children," she observed neutrally.

"Yet you learned Occlumency somewhere," he replied, goading her just a bit. He suspected the reason why she had learned it, but he wanted to hear it from her own lips.

"I am from France, site of Grindelwald's atrocious attacks. You don't know who to trust these days…it's only common sense to learn how to Occlude if you can," she said, and Tom slid a glance at her.

"Vous n'avez pas d'accent. Je trouve cela plutôt étrange."

Hermione's heart rate sped up a bit to hear the French slipping elegantly from his mouth. "Qu'est qui est étrange à ce sujet? Ma mère était anglaise. Elle a fait en sorte que je puisses parler anglais parfaitement."

Her accent was only passable, and Hermione prayed that Tom wouldn't pick up on that. How could he have? He had lived his whole life in that orphanage, a fact which, Hermione reminded herself, he had not made her aware of. But if she ever let that slip, she could say that Dumbledore had told her.

"You are quite the mass of contradictions, Hermione. Kind of like a puzzle, waiting for me to solve. Did you know that I saw you the night you arrived? I left the Great Hall during the feast, and there you were, crumpled in a bloody heap on the floor leading to the courtyard, Headmaster Dippet hurrying to help you."

Tom had slowed in his walking until he had almost stopped, and Hermione had unconsciously done the same. He halted as he spoke, and Hermione realized the path behind them was clear. He bent his head down to speak softly into her ear, his breath warm against her chilled flesh. "What were you running from, Hermione? And don't try to tell me it was an accident, your arrival here. You had been cursed almost to death…what happened to you?"

Hermione was sure he could hear her heart, it was beating so rapidly in her chest, the nervous thrum practically a drumline. She had her Occlumency walls up tight, and she refused to look at him, clutching her wand in her pocket instead. She answered slowly, "It was Grindelwald's forces, all right? It was the worst thing I've ever seen. I thought I was going to die, and some of my friends did die. I don't want to talk about it ever again with you, is that clear?"

At this she raised her head and finally met Riddle's eyes. She could tell that he was excited, although he hid it very well. "Ah, but I do want to talk about it, Hermione. I want to find out exactly who cursed you and why. Why would a teenage girl be cursed so viciously instead of merely killed? You are holding something back from me, and I am going to find out what it is."

"I'll never talk to you about this again," Hermione said vehemently, and Tom noticed a group of students approaching again from Hogsmeade, pulling her quite suddenly next to him with his arm around her shoulder and resuming their walk toward the castle that now loomed quite close. To the group behind, it would seem that Tom Riddle had decided he quite liked Hermione Girard indeed, as they looked quite cozy from a distance.

"Oh, I think you will. I am quite interested to learn what Grindelwald does, and you are the closest person I have met who has witnessed a full-fledged attack."

"What, so you can learn from his mistakes?" Hermione asked bitterly before she thought the better of it, and Tom turned her quickly into a nook of the castle wall, then leaned in toward her in an intimidating fashion. Hermione realized the instant she said it what a mistake it was to let her temper get the better of her, and the flare of anger in his eyes was ample warning of the dangers of his attention.

"What has your relative told you about me?" he demanded. "I think you'll find I can be very persuasive, Hermione. I suggest you comply, or I'll consider less _orthodox_ paths."

"It's none of your business," Hermione said, and she saw his jaw tighten, his hand slipping to his wand.

"What are you two about?" came the gruff shout of Professor Beery. He was obviously heading back from the greenhouses, being covered in a yellow slime and dirt mixture, and he looked quite irritated.

"Just spending a few extra minutes with my girl before dinnertime," Tom called out, grabbing Hermione's hand before she could voice any objection.

"Well, enough of that now! Go in and get dressed for dinner. Miss Girard, after you," the professor groused, and Hermione silently thanked the stars for the manners of the '40s, as her Head of House was clearly going to escort her to Ravenclaw Tower, dismissing Tom Riddle in the process.

"Thank you for such a diverting afternoon, Hermione," Tom said, and Hermione turned her head away from him quite pointedly. She heard his footsteps as he departed, and then she fell into step beside Professor Beery.

"Now, don't punish him too hard if he was trying to take liberties, Miss Girard. I remember what it was like to be a young lad," Professor Beery said next to her, clearly heartened by the imminent prospect of a hot shower and hearty meal. Hermione had no intention of discussing Tom Riddle and his carefully crafted lying appearances, as it would only further his aims. Instead she fixed her attention on Professor Beery, who was looking at the departing Head Boy.

"Spinning Snapdragons, sir?" Hermione asked as she eyed the goop on his robes. It was too clear to be Tarantaculas, she had decided. Her Head of House grinned, returning his attention to her.

"The very ones, Miss Girard, and the devil they are to milk!"

"But it is a very good Potions ingredient nonetheless," Hermione said with a smile, and her professor felt so charitable toward his newest student that he showed her a secret passageway to Ravenclaw Tower that she had never seen before, even on the Marauder's Map.

"Now, Miss Girard, mum's the word on that," he said, then gave her a brisk nod as he strode off toward his own quarters.

"Thank you Professor!" she called after him, then answered the eagle knocker's riddle, her mind already parsing her afternoon spent in decidedly mixed and dangerous company.

At dinner, Hermione spent the entire time ignoring the whispers and snickers about her supposed date with Tom Riddle. She tried to talk as normal with Phineas and Olivia, but her roommate was intent on prying all the details of how Tom had conducted himself, which led Hermione to nearly scream with frustration. She was consequently eager to escape the common room early, the relative privacy of the bathroom and a long soak in the tub the perfect opportunity to contemplate her situation.

Tom Riddle had her wrong, but he was clearly intent on breaking into her memories of the battle that had seen her sent drenched in blood back to this time. This was something Hermione could not allow, and she had to work out a way to a) avoid him, and b) discourage him from his objective in some manner. Frowning, she realized she would have to talk to Professor Dumbledore. The professor had made it clear that he didn't want to hear about the future for fear of biasing his behavior, but Hermione needed some context for Tom Riddle's behavior. It was possible that Dumbledore might have a suggestion for how to discourage his interest that wouldn't require her to divulge anything that she knew about his future. Resolved, she went to bed early and fell into a troubled sleep, her dreams disturbed by visions of dark eyes and phantom pain in her shoulder.


	5. Pawn to E5

**Just a word about my writing process-I try to write daily. I've basically been working on this since I finished "In the Name of Science". This story has really gotten my attention, the characters are quite forceful (especially Tom Riddle/Lord Voldemort) and I have the major plot points pretty well set in my head. I've written a lot of key scenes, which means a lot of Hermione & Tom/LV since they are the protagonists. Where I sometimes struggle are the connecting pieces, where the ancillary characters are moving things along or I haven't quite figured out who will do what, but it's a plot point that is basically "unassigned". This is where reviews really help me. Some of that kind of writing is gritty, in the trenches, 'get it done' kind of stuff. When I get a lot of reviews with meaty comments, it inspires me to plug on through those parts of the story. When I don't get that, I am not as keen to do it, so the story languishes a bit. So that's why I ask for reviews, because they motivate me!**

**Relatela, I write about 6k words a day if I have time and things are moving along for me. As I said, it is not all sequential-some main story arc pieces with pivotal scenes I had to get down. I'll just keep plugging away, please keep reviewing!**

**Grace Hearford, I hadn't really thought about her physical state, but that is a good point. :) **

**Katie, sorry to drive you crazy. That's in a good way though, right? :D**

**LK Hogwarts Headgirl, glad you liked it!  
**

**So are you getting a sense for how things are deviating from canon? Other than the whole time travel thing, of course. :) I mentioned Professor Snape in the last chapter, and Hermione is an Occlumens! Let's see what happens next. Please review! It makes my day to read your reviews! **

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"Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione peeked her head around the door to Professor Dumbledore's office, which had opened after a brief knock.

"Come in, Hermione—just one moment, and I'll be with you."

Hermione's head swiveled and she realized that Dumbledore was looking at something with one of his contraptions, the headpiece obscuring him almost totally from view. She waited patiently while he clucked his tongue and flicked his fingers toward a waiting quill, which transcribed the symbols he was writing in the air.

"There, that's better," he said, finally pushing the silvery frame away and fixing his gaze upon her. "Now, you said it was rather urgent. Does this perchance have aught to do with Mr. Riddle escorting you to Hogsmeade this past Saturday?"

Hermione let out a sigh of relief. She had worried that the professor did not have his penchant for omniscience yet, but clearly he was aware of more than he let on, as her housemates thought he was a bit absentminded. "Yes, it is. I wanted to talk to you about him."

Professor Dumbledore rose from the stool he had been occupying and moved toward his desk, gesturing to the seat across. Hermione sat and Professor Dumbledore opened a box that was placed on the corner of the desk, removing a candy that squiggled in his grasp.

"Grapefruit glow-worm?" he offered, and Hermione politely declined.

"No thank you." She couldn't help the fact that her nose wrinkled slightly as she watched him take a bite, an expression of mild disappointment crossing his features as the remaining half wiggled.

"I must admit, the centers of these confections are always lacking," he said sadly, popping the other half into his mouth.

"You should try Muggle sweets," Hermione suggested, and Professor Dumbledore cocked his head.

"Perhaps I should. Now, about the Head Boy…what exactly about your outing with Mr. Riddle has concerned you enough that you made an appointment with me today?"

Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, his hands steepled on the desk, waiting for her reply. She felt a bit nervous, because however kind he was, he did not know her nor anything about her, and this naturally gave their interactions an impersonal veneer which contrasted oddly with what she knew of her future headmaster. It was a jarring incongruity, and she had not fully processed it.

Nonetheless, she explained in guarded terms that Tom was very curious about her arrival at Hogwarts, and was under the impression that she had taken part in a battle of some kind. She further relayed that he was aware of her state when she arrived, telling him that he had disclosed how he had seen Headmaster Dippet helping her. She had decided to keep his attempted Legilimency to herself. Regardless of the wrongness of Tom's action, she had to do her best to preserve the original timeline, which meant Tom Riddle must remain at Hogwarts until he graduated. Therefore, as much as it grated on her to keep his underhanded attempt a secret, it was necessary that she do so.

When she finished, Dumbledore leaned back slowly in his chair, bringing his hands to rest on his middle as he thought about what she had relayed. He looked at her with a curious expression on his face, then said, "What exactly is it about the Head Boy that bothers you, Hermione?"

Hermione did not like the particular gleam in his eye, as if he were hoping for some evidence of malfeasance. She had thought long and hard about what Dumbledore had told Harry in future about Lord Voldemort's days as a student, and here she had the uncomfortable feeling that Professor Dumbledore, while being the only one smart enough to recognize the danger of Tom Riddle, was perhaps now disposed to think ill of him. It placed her in the very uncomfortable position of deciding Tom Riddle's fate, to an extent, and she wondered what Professor Dumbledore would say if he realized that his explicit and frequent cautions on the day after her arrival about interfering with the events of this timeline were already in conflict with her ethics and morality. She squirmed in her chair slightly, sitting up more, then answered, "He is very arrogant, and I'm afraid I cannot like that about him."

Hermione could tell that he had been hoping for something more salacious or perhaps incriminating, but he covered it speedily. It reinforced her decision to not mention Tom Riddle's attempt at Legilimency. After all, he had not seen anything that could not be explained as fictitious previous visits. Professor Dumbledore sat up as well in his chair and again placed his clasped hands on the desk.

"Why do you suppose Tom asked you to Hogsmeade, Hermione?"

Hermione had thought about that quite a bit, but she wasn't sure if her conclusion was as solid as she wanted it to be.

"I believe he is curious about me, and saw an opportunity to learn more so he took it," she replied slowly, her head tipping down toward her lap briefly to hide the frown on her brow. "I really cannot think that someone like him, who is known to be a bit of a loner, would really have any interest in me otherwise."

Dumbledore's expression seemed to clear briefly, and he smiled warmly at Hermione. "Yes, that is exactly what I think. Therefore, we must remove that which he is curious about, and that will likely be the end of his interest in you. To whit, I propose that we remove and store your scant memory of your arrival here. I will helpfully drop this information in such a manner that the Head Boy is certain to become aware of it. I predict that when this occurs, his interest in you will wane, and you may proceed with making yourself comfortable for the duration of your stay here."

"And do you know how long that will be?" Hermione tried to keep the wistful note out of her voice, but she obviously failed, because Dumbledore's look changed to one of compassion.

"I'm afraid it is still early days yet, my dear. I suggest you put it from your mind as best you can, and I promise to inform you as soon as I learn anything further. Now, shall we see to that memory?"

Hermione nodded, and noted idly that Professor Dumbledore's wand was a warm yellow wood, possibly beech or rowan. She wondered what its core was after he pulled the slippery, small stream of those fragmented seconds from her mind, then secured them in an unbreakable phial.

"There, that should keep Mr. Riddle's curiosity at bay," Professor Dumbledore said, storing it in a small, mirrored glass cabinet behind his desk. He turned back to her with brisk efficiency, then paused as he took in her appearance. "May I suggest, Hermione, that you take the opportunity this time affords you to truly rest and recover yourself. You have clearly been through quite a few trials, and despite the Head Boy's boundless curiosity, I believe my Hogwarts can be a place of refuge for you if you let it."

"Thank you sir, I will try," Hermione promised, and stood to shake the hand he offered.

"Very good. And do let me know if you run low on pocket money…there are not many opportunities for students to earn their own around here."

"Thank you professor," Hermione said, turning to leave on that clear note of dismissal. Professor Dumbledore watched her go, then turned in his chair to look at the mirrored cabinet. He sincerely hoped that had been the right thing to do…

* * *

Tom Riddle stared idly at the piece of parchment in his hand. It was a mere scrap of paper, a small thing pinned to her that could have been overlooked for a bit in the dark courtyard had anyone other than him found her first. It was fortunate that the greedy Xander Aloysium had been so very ill from eating too much pudding during the feast, as it had given Tom the perfect excuse to be out of the Great Hall. He often found the communal meals tiring, so he welcomed any opportunity to play the perfect Head Boy, helping others who had various problems at mealtimes. It gave him leave to wander the castle for a bit, earning the gratitude of the prefects as a bonus, since most would prefer to enjoy their meal in peace.

The fact that he had had a bit of warning from the wards helped as well, one of the few advantages from Salazar's chamber that he was still able to use. It had been simple to examine the witch just as she arrived and pocket the note and dagger, then wait in the shadows for Dippet to come and see what had disturbed the wards. No one had realized that he wasn't already back in the Hall when they were trying to save the girl's life.

He turned his attention to the small dagger that had pinned the parchment to Hermione's shoulder. The parchment had actually been tucked into a small notch in the blade, a curious arrangement he had not seen before. It was almost a stiletto, but as short as it was slender. It had a nice heft to it, the kind of weapon that was easily thrown. It was keyed to him, a fact he had verified by driving the blade into the wall and commanding one of his Knights to remove it, then the others in succession. Only Tom was able to take it out. That meant the note was specifically addressed _to_ him, and by someone close enough to him to be able to match his magical signature. It was absolutely maddening, therefore, that he could not make the parchment reveal its contents! He had obliquely questioned his Knights under the Cruciatus, and even Abraxas had denied any knowledge of it, and he usually knew about _anything_ unusual in the wider magical community. So, somehow, someone outside of Hogwarts knew him well enough to key an encrypted note to him, and had planted it where he would be able to retrieve it. And said person knew his habits well enough to deliver the vessel for it at a time and place where he was most likely to find her.

"My lord."

Evan Rosier kneeled with his arm pressed over his chest, the picture of a perfect servant. Rosier was indeed quite loyal, more so even than Abraxas. The latter had too much arrogance from his upbringing, but Tom had almost beaten that out of him. At least Malfoy was good at following orders to the letter, and his brawn made the younger Slytherins think twice about disregarding an instruction from the Head Boy.

"Ah, Rosier. Stand." Tom stood from his desk. He appreciated the solitude offered by the Head Boy's quarters, the lack of roommates a distinct pleasure he had never before enjoyed in his life. "I have an assignment for you, but it requires discretion and subtlety. I trust you recognize the implications of failure?"

Tom's voice was silvery smooth and moderate, but Evan could not help the shiver that ran over him when Riddle alluded to punishment. He had felt the force of Lord Voldemort's curses, and he had no desire for a repetition.

"Just tell me what I am to do, and I will obey."

"You are to keep an eye on Miss Girard for me. She is quite an unusual witch, and I require her…_assistance_ with a project, sometime this winter. I fear she may prove somewhat intractable, and therefore, I expect you to learn her habits and patterns so explicitly well that, should I require it, you can tell me where she is at any instant. And you must do so without her detection of your presence, as she is too clever for her own good. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord. She will never know I am there," Rosier promised, and Tom was satisfied. He had other projects to keep in train, and he suspected it would take a good deal of force to break Hermione Girard down. Fortunately, he had the entire school year to do so, and he was already off to a very good start. One, Hermione had now had a taste of what he was like; two, she had no way of escaping him when he was ready to try again…and three, she knew it.

* * *

Hermione was doing her best to ignore the arrogant Head Boy. It was clear from how people talked about him that they were impressed by his magical talent, but also wary of getting on his bad side. Hermione privately admitted to herself that he was nauseatingly good in every subject, and she was hard pressed to match him. Somehow, the way he was treating her made it seem even more important that she meet or beat him whenever possible, simply to survive.

Just to keep her off guard, he would carry her bookbag for her occasionally and escorted her to random meals, his hand lingering on her arm as he whispered little irritations into her ear, causing her to flush and their audience to draw exactly the conclusions he wanted. He was careful to do this in the halls for the benefit of the students, always leaving her side at the doors to the Great Hall.

The subject matter in Magical Theory had caused them to become _de facto_ opponents whenever a controversial subject was being discussed. While Hermione loved the class, given that it was no longer offered in her time, she found it infuriating that no one else dared to debate Riddle on subjects that were clearly prone to abuse by Dark wizards. She enjoyed the format which Professor Cavallo used for the course, and his mustache would quiver with appreciation whenever a student made a good point. However, it was insufferable the way her housemates would simply agree with whatever Riddle said. Honestly, who could possibly _think _it was ethical to use a morality dampening spell during interrogations? Yet she was the only one to argue about it, putting forth her reasoning and listening to Tom eloquently defend it as if it were a natural course of action.

"If you reduce the tendency of a witch or wizard to rely on their moral compass, then you permit them to be more forthcoming about events that they would otherwise be inclined to hide or not disclose, but which may provide relevant information to the authorities," Tom said, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world to strip a wizard or witch of their morality in order to gain any salacious secret they might hold.

"But you have no guarantee that the information they disclose is relevant to your investigation! And by doing so, you remove from them the ability to protect others who may not be involved in the investigation at all, and who are entitled to their privacy. Additionally, you provide the authorities with potentially explosive information which unethical employees could use to blackmail the individuals involved," Hermione said.

"But Hermione, the Ministry and its employees take oaths which would surely prevent such conduct. Or are you saying you don't trust the Ministry and the safeguards they provide for information they might acquire during an investigation?"

Tom's expression was almost beatific, and Hermione knew he had nimbly boxed her in. Now she seemed to be sympathetic to Dark wizards and witches and their potentially salacious secrets, _and_ distrustful of the authorities! Her jaw clenched briefly and a twitch of amusement flashed in his eyes as she darted him a look of distaste.

"That is not what I'm saying at all. I am, however, saying that it is unwise to use techniques which are not directly relevant to the investigation, and which might cause considerable harm. And what of the effects on the questioned individual when they recollect what they let slip under the spell's effects? They could suffer psychologically if they disclosed something that they find embarrassing or potentially damaging to themselves or others if it were public knowledge."

"But surely if they are innocent, they have nothing to hide?" Tom asked, aware that Professor Cavallo would likely cut off the debate shortly as the end of class approached. He did like this, seeing Hermione get all fired up while the rest of the class was too spineless or too in his thrall to disagree with his opinion. It was…_refreshing_ to have someone stand up to him, although of course she would never win an argument.

"We have all done things which we are not proud of," Hermione said. "And to say that the authorities are entitled to discover those things simply because you might become messed up in an investigation is overreaching and wrong."

"Surely _you_ haven't done anything of which you aren't proud, Hermione?" Tom replied easily, a hint of amusement on his face.

"Now, now, nothing personal in debates, please!" Professor Cavallo said amiably, clapping his hands together.

Tom nodded in acknowledgement and continued, "Besides, morality should always be filtered through one's magic, not the other way around."

Hermione bristled at this. "If that were true, then you would color your morality to suit the desires of your magic. The entire _point_ of morality is to provide an independent check on things which you may _desire_, but which may be harmful to yourself or others."

Tom's mouth quirked upward at the corner slyly. "That is convenient as long as the magical community is not endangered. But in the situation we are discussing, the individuals are accused of nefarious deeds by our government. In the words of Benedictus Solispraxuus, 'Magic's foremost aim is to protect itself.' Thus, my point stands: morality _must _be filtered through one's magic in order for it to not conflict with the very nature of magic itself."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but Professor Cavallo stood up from his relaxed lean against his desk and drew their attention with a gentle fall of sparks from his wand.

"I think we all appreciate the points made by both our Head Boy and Miss Girard! Fascinating topic! Now, next week we will be beginning our studies of spell creation, so I expect you all to refresh your memory about magical laws. Class dismissed!"

Hermione noticed that her Ravenclaw classmates were darting looks at her comprised of pure horror, curiosity, or shock. The Slytherins were far more composed as they shuffled out, their glances consisting of amusement and expectation. _Of course, they expect him to punish me_, Hermione thought viciously to herself, shoving her book and notes into her bag. Hermione felt him beside her desk but refused to acknowledge his presence while Tom's Knights darted sly smirks and pointed looks in her direction as they filed out last. She didn't look at him as she shoved her book into her bag, merely said, "What do you want now, Riddle?"

"I would almost think you had a personal interest in that debate, Hermione," he said, his fingers slipping over hers to take the strap of her bag. Hermione ignored the skitter of her nerves and flung her hair back over her shoulder, forcing him to step back, albeit with her bag.

"We both know that you are one to talk about morality," she said. "I am not continuing this conversation with you. I don't even like you."

Tom fell into step beside her, the students in the hallways parting before him as usual, and since she was by his side, her as well. He replied easily, "Oh now, you're telling me you can't find one redeeming thing about me? Not even one thing you like, or even admire?"

Hermione was piqued, but her innate honesty compelled her to admit at least to herself that there _were_ things she admired about Tom Riddle, even if she would cut off her own tongue before she would tell him what they were. She snuck a peek at him and deduced from his smug expression that he had already gleaned her reply from her silence.

"Too afraid to tell me what they are, hmmm?" he teased, chivalrously holding the door open for her as they exited the castle. Why did the walk to Herbology have to be so long?

"I'd rather not inflate your ego more than it already is," Hermione said tightly. Tom took hold of her arm and turned her to face him, an amused look on his face.

"One thing," he asked. "Then I'll leave you alone."

"No you won't," Hermione said. "You're a terrible liar."

"Au contraire, ma petite sorcière. Je suis un excellent menteur." He had moved closer now, and her heartbeat sped up without her permission. "As are you. You should have been in Slytherin."

"I didn't want to be in Slytherin," Hermione said, boldly meeting his gaze even as she hoped she wasn't flushing from the acceleration of her heart, his closeness extremely disconcerting.

"Do you mean that the Sorting Hat wanted to put you there, or that you heard from your relative that it was a poor House to be sorted into?"

"I refuse to answer that pointless question," Hermione said, finally breaking eye contact and turning back toward the safety of the Herbology greenhouses.

"I believe I have my answer," Tom said, a satisfied expression on his face as he began walking again to keep up with her.

"You are insufferably arrogant," Hermione said coolly, doing her best to keep her tone level. Why did he have to be so damn intelligent?

"And I'll say what I know you think but are too cowardly to voice—you know, and like, that I am an excellent student." With that salvo, Tom handed her bag to her, Hermione not even caring for once about the students who were gawking at every interaction between them. "Until later, Hermione."


	6. The Folly of Impulsive Action

**A quick reminder that I own none of the original source material, and thank you to JKR for the fabulous works. **

**This chapter is all for you, Atlantean Diva. Thank you for the brilliant and thoughtful reviews for chapters 4 & 5! Mum's the word on your guesses. I plan to let the story uncover itself at a natural rate. Glad you liked that 'zing' between Tom & Hermione in the last chapter.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

"Ah, Madame Duvalle. Just the witch I was looking for." Professor Dumbledore drew to a halt next to the infirmary matron, fully aware that Tom Riddle was just around the corner. "I was wondering if you could provide Miss Girard with some calming draughts. She is still distressed by nightmares from her experiences before coming here."

The matron clucked her tongue and turned an expectant eye on the transfiguration professor. "And why hasn't she come to me? I told her she was to tell me if she was suffering anything like that."

Tom Riddle was, of course, eavesdropping. He found it unusual that Dumbledore would make such a request, as Rosier had not reported that Hermione had met with the man recently.

"I'm afraid she is still not quite comfortable here. She is making friends, true, but slowly, and I believe she finds me a bit more approachable, since I knew her parents. I haven't told her that I would ask, you see, but I really feel that she needs rest to recover from all that has befallen her. In fact, I've removed her memory of her arrival here temporarily. Apparently her wounds feature prominently in her nightmares."

Madame Duvalle nodded. "It's true that it takes time to deal with the grief of such sudden loss and trauma. Well, tell her to come and see me, Albus. When I'm sure that nothing else is going on, I will give her the draughts."

Professor Dumbledore smiled. "Thank you, Eloise. I appreciate your assistance."

Tom heard the footsteps of both moving off in different directions, and turned on his heel. He wanted to speak to Evan Rosier.

It was simple enough to track Evan down. He was in the library, because that is where Hermione was. Tom slipped into the chair next to him, cognizant of the fact that Hermione was working on homework a few tables away, Longbottom and one of her roommates, Olivia Tynwyn.

"How much longer will she be here?" Tom asked, darting a casual glance at the witch in question.

"She usually leaves about half an hour before the dinner hour," Evan replied, halfheartedly turning his attention to his own schoolwork. He had never been so on top of assignments since he had been given this task.

"When is the last time she spoke to Dumbledore?"

Tom Riddle's voice was nonchalant, but Evan Rosier was no fool.

"She hasn't spoken to him since the beginning of the month outside of class, unless she's been sneaking out of Ravenclaw tower in the dead of night to do so. I swear it."

Evan's brown eyes were serious, holding Tom's cool gaze without any hint of guilt. His body language was equally intent, and Tom allowed that this was sufficient, for now, to believe him.

"That is all I needed to know. Oh, and you've made a mistake in your essay. It is minced kite snail livers, not ganglia, for the Caput potion."

Before Evan could reply, the Head Boy was already on his way back out of the library. He scratched his head, not sure how Tom could have spotted that in the half second he had taken to glance at his essay.

"Bloody brilliant," he muttered to himself, wondering with a slight twinge how it was that one wizard could have such a surfeit of intelligence and a deficit of heart.

* * *

It was now almost Halloween, and although Tom had ignored her last trip to Hogsmeade and remained at the castle, Hermione knew that everyone still assumed he was pursuing her from the way he acted around her in public. She tried not to let it bother her, the assumptions everyone was making about her. Even Phineas was skeptical when she denied being interested in the Head Boy. She had been careful to avoid places where he could corner her, although she suspected he was just playing with her. She doubted Tom Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort, would be dissuaded from any pursuit unless he chose to drop it for the time being. She was under no illusions that he wasn't developing some utterly atrocious plan, but she had resolved not to involve Dumbledore again unless it became absolutely necessary after a tense visit one afternoon last week.

"Gollem, this is getting very ugly," Phineas said after taking a large bite of toast, his eyes wide. In his hand he had the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, and Hermione could see writhing flames on the front cover photograph. Her roommate Olivia was attempting to read it, craning her head at an angle as she devoured the words on the page.

"Oh, sorry," he said sheepishly when he caught Hermione's eye, attempting to turn the paper so she couldn't see it. While Hermione thought it was very touching the way her classmates assumed the coverage of Grindelwald's activities would upset her, she was through having them tiptoe around it.

"Give me that," she demanded, holding her hand out expectantly.

"Um, Hermione…" Phineas began, but Hermione crinkled her brow.

"NOW."

A hush fell over the Ravenclaw table, which attracted attention from the Gryffindors and Slytherins on either side. Hermione ignored them all, poring over the article which went into vivid detail about Grindelwald's attack on Vlad Krum and his family. Viktor Krum's face swam into view in her mind, and she paled at this senseless slaughter, writ large with gruesome letters on the front page of the Prophet.

"Thank you," she said tightly, handing the paper back to Phineas without another word before she stormed off from the Great Hall. It was a natural conclusion amongst all present, Tom Riddle included, that Hermione was reliving terrible memories of her own parents' deaths, but it was not precisely that which troubled the witch at this particular moment. No, Hermione was livid that something so preventable should have happened _again_ during her time, and angry about the blasé reactions of the very people around her, all of whom were responsible for the periodic flourishing of evil acts and sentiments via the heedless fertilizer of apathy in the future.

If she had been aware of it, she would have seen how Professor Dumbledore, too, blanched at the latest description of his former friend's activities as writ large in the Daily Prophet. But Hermione was too caught in her own recriminations to see her future headmaster struggle with the self-same regrets.

* * *

Two weeks later found Hermione in no better spirits. Halloween had come and gone, and with it their transfiguration professor had taken himself off to parts unknown. He had met with her briefly before departing to give her additional pocket money and to let her know that she needn't feel obliged to use the calming draughts which Madame Duvalle had pressed upon her.

During that meeting, Professor Dumbledore had obliquely hinted that he expected her to solve her own problems unless it involved someone discovering her origins. She knew that he must be dealing with the considerable conflict of his personal relationship with Gellert Grindelwald and that wizard's increasingly sociopathic activities. In short, he was stressed and in his kind but blunt manner had told her to keep herself out of egregious trouble while he was away. As if _that_ were an easy task with Tom Riddle still toying with her!

"Stop annoying me!" she hissed at Tom one afternoon in the library as he sat down in the chair opposite her, a small charm pulling her book away and to the other end of the table. Her housemates melted away whenever Tom was around, although she couldn't blame them. A Gryffindor had ended up in the infirmary last week, covered head to toe in weeping boils, and the current rumor was that Abraxas Malfoy was responsible. Of course, the Head Boy had 'investigated' and he had assured Headmaster Dippet that it was all Herecles' fault. The fact that the Gryffindor in question was Gryffindor's Seeker, and it was just before the Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch match, was entirely coincidental.

"Why, if I didn't know better I'd think you weren't pleased to see me, Hermione," Tom said, leaning forward on his forearms. "Is that your Arithmancy homework? Would you like me to check it for you?"

"No thank you," Hermione replied tightly, her fingers tightening around her quill and wishing it was her wand, and that she dared to try to hex him. Of course she never would, but it was a pleasant thought at times when she found it difficult to ignore the things that she did find appealing about him. Thankfully she knew what he was really like, otherwise she would be like all the other girls who adored Tom Riddle and threw dark looks at her when they thought Tom wasn't paying attention. They probably would have attempted to hex her if they thought they could get away with it.

Tom moved around the table and looked over her shoulder at her work. "Hmmm, I'm not sure about that one…" he leaned forward to study it more closely. "You have used an entirely unique method of parsing that. Where did you pick that up?"

Hermione saw his brow had furrowed, and she felt a vindictive lick of satisfaction that she knew how to do something that Tom Riddle did not. "That's beside the point. It is a shorter method and it is more logical."

"Teach me," he demanded imperiously, settling into the chair next to her and dragging it far closer than she liked.

"As if I would teach you anything!" she hissed, and Tom ignored her utterly.

"Never mind, I will teach myself," he said, Summoning her paper to himself and wordlessly Scourgifying the ink that had spilled on the parchment when the force of his charm caused her inkwell to spill.

"Give me back my paper this instant!" Hermione hissed again, not wanting to draw the attention of the librarian.

"No. Now shut up or I'll Silence you," Tom replied, her muttered outrage causing his lips to turn up at the corners of his mouth. Hermione was seething. She could practically see the wheels turning in his mind as he dissected the problem. She was quiet for thirty seconds and Tom focused most of his attention on the technique, satisfied that she was going to sit and fume.

He was wrong. Hermione had taken to wearing her wand in her hidden holster since Tom's little stunt during the Hogsmeade weekend, and she had flicked it into her hand underneath the library table. The only warning he had was the backlash from his magic as she hit him with a strong stinging hex, followed by a freezing spell. Hermione belatedly realized whom she had just hexed just as he broke free, his hands and face covered with welts, a murderous expression on his face.

"_Adure!_"

Hermione deflected the wandless jinx automatically, standing and causing her chair to topple over. He was quicker, however, and immediately followed it with "_Furnunculus acidum!"_, his infamous yew wand in his hand so quickly she hadn't even seen it. Hermione felt boils erupting from her skin in a very painful fashion, causing her to almost drop her wand.

"_Expelliarmus_," Tom hissed, and her wand flew from her hand into his, and he cast a disillusionment charm over them both. "Now, we are going to take a walk to the infirmary, and _you_ are going to remain quiet. After we have retrieved the necessary potions, you and I are going for a little walk, Hermione Girard, and I'm going to revisit the issue of your defiant behavior."

Hermione fought the instinctive urge to bolt. He had her wand, and she wasn't fast enough to get away from him. Besides, no one could see her now, so unless she could evade him and get the attention of a professor, she was screwed. Her best bet was to try to retrieve her wand while they were in the infirmary, and try to get away from him there. He grabbed her arm and began to forcefully drag her from the library, her papers strewn about the table and completely forgotten.

Hermione bit back the gasp of pain when he grabbed her, knowing it would only give him perverse satisfaction. "You've modified the spell," she whispered, and his face contorted in a grimace, the stings she had given him her own modified version of a standard stinging jinx.

"It will get worse the longer it lasts," Tom said grimly. "But I'm not the only one who has been modifying spells, am I Hermione? Because even though you are nowhere near me in magical strength, unless I miss my guess you have enhanced the sting of your hex. You were clever enough to use something requiring a potion to cure, I will give you that," he said through gritted teeth, ignoring the hiss of pain from her as he moved along the edge of a particularly narrow corridor that was crowded with statuary, not caring how many his companion was being forced to bump into along the way.

"Please, slow down!" Hermione forced herself to say. The crust had been broken over many of her boils, and the weeping fluid from them was burning the remaining healthy skin painfully.

"I think not," Tom said in a clipped tone. He couldn't believe the little bint had hexed him! She clearly did not realize exactly whom she had pissed off, but he was going to show her. Tonight. He waved his wand in irritation when they arrived at the infirmary, pushing open the doors just as he hit Hermione with a wordless _Silencio _and removed the disillusionment spell. It wouldn't do to have the witch speaking up and ruining the story he'd concocted on the way there.

"Mercy, what has happened, Mr. Riddle?" Madame Duvalle cried, hurrying over to them.

Tom adopted his most penitent expression. "We were practicing hexes, Madame, in anticipation of Professor Merrythought's first trial. I'm afraid we managed to hit each other at the same time."

The matron waved her wand over them both, then whisked them into side by side beds. "Oh yes, just sit here dears, I will be right back with the potions!"

Tom flicked his wand at Hermione again, removing the silencing spell.

"That was completely unnecessary," she whispered angrily before Madame Duvalle exited the apothecary. "I have no desire to report you, as I'm sure it won't do any good!"

"You're learning, but not quickly enough," Tom replied, the itching of his welts growing. Later he would reflect on the clever insidiousness of that itching component to her spell, but at the present he was murderously angry and desired nothing more than to teach her a lesson she'd never forget. He was running through what he would do to her when he got her alone when she lunged forward, attempting to get into his pocket where her wand was safely stowed. No magic was necessary, he just gripped her by the upper arms with a punishing grip and shoved, sending her reeling back onto her bottom on the floor, her head cracking onto the metal bedframe. He bent down to look her square in the eyes. "Don't try anything like that with me again, or you won't live to see the sunrise. You'll get your wand back when I'm good and ready to give it to you."

They both heard the matron coming back, and Tom instantly switched into his conciliatory, polite Head Boy persona, helping Hermione up and gently running his hand along the back of her skull. "I say, Madame Duvalle, Hermione was a bit dizzy. I'm afraid she's given herself a good gash on the back of her head," he said, pulling his hand away with her blood dripping from it.

"Don't try to get up when you've been hexed, you silly girl!" the matron cried, and Tom nimbly relieved the matron of his potion and let her cluck over Hermione. He swallowed his potion in one go, then Scourgified the vial and captured some of Hermione's blood from his hand before secreting the vial in his robes. He watched with satisfaction as the welts began to disappear. The itching persisted, annoyingly, but he would find a spell to reverse that in short order in his rooms. Now he had to finish his plans for this evening, but to do so would require that Hermione remain here and easily accessible for later.

"Will Miss Girard have to stay overnight, or will she be released in time for dinner?"

Madame Duvalle was behind Hermione, waving her wand over the laceration, so she missed Hermione's alarmed expression. "Hmmm, well, this is quite ugly…I think I'd best keep you overnight for observation, dear."

"I'd prefer to have my own night things. Could I have my wand back please Tom?" Hermione said quickly, ignoring the flash of anger that was there and quickly gone on his face.

Madame Duvalle, who missed the entire wordless exchange, clucked, "We can have a house elf fetch those for you, Miss Girard. I don't want you doing any spellwork with that head wound."

"But I could at least practice my wand movements—and I don't like to be without my wand…after, you know…"

Hermione trailed off and felt immensely relieved when the matron sighed and said, "Yes, of course dear," then turned toward Tom with an expectant look.

Part of Hermione savored the brief narrowing of Tom Riddle's eyes as he handed over her wand, and part of her realized that things were escalating in a very unpleasant manner between herself and the future Dark Lord. Tom did not like being outmaneuvered, but Hermione knew that being in the infirmary without her wand was far, far more dangerous than letting him get away with keeping it.

"May I come and visit Miss Girard after dinner, Madame Duvalle? I just want to be sure she is feeling better," Tom said smoothly, an appealing, slight blush spreading over his cheeks. Hermione goggled at him—he could actually _blush_ on command!

"Of course, Tom," Madame Duvalle said, smiling between the pair of them. "I think that would be fine."

"Until then, Hermione," Tom said, picking up her hand and pressing a kiss onto her knuckles. Hermione shivered as his dark eyes flicked up to meet her own. She didn't return the sentiment, and he walked out, his robes swishing behind him.

"Such a smooth one, that Mr. Riddle!" Madame Duvalle said, then turned her practiced eye back to Hermione. "Now, let's do something about those burns now that the boils are gone—clothes off dear," she said, summoning a privacy screen with a flick of her wand. Hermione was shivering, and it had nothing to do with the chill of the infirmary.

* * *

Tom was focused on the vial of blood in his pocket and the piece of parchment waiting in his room. Thus, it was with extreme annoyance that he was stopped by Abraxas Malfoy in the halls.

"What is it?" he bit out, aware that the itch from Hermione's jinx was growing more insidious. His thoughts were black with what he wanted to do to her, but Abraxas' next statement captured his full attention.

"It's that damn Gryffindor Seeker again. He says that as soon as Dumbledore's back, he is going to go to him about me hexing him. He's pissed about his month long detention because they benched him from Quidditch and he's missing practices because of it."

"And this is my concern how?" Tom said coldly.

Abraxas kept his face impassive, but internally he knew what was coming. "He says you were biased and Dumbledore is likely to give him a fair hearing."

Tom stopped walking and turned his head to look at Abraxas. "He actually _said_ that I was biased?" His voice was hard but quiet, some of the irritation he felt toward Hermione bleeding through.

"Yes."

Tom ignored the look of satisfaction on Abraxas' face as his own expression smoothed out, all traces of emotion wiped clean.

"There is no Quidditch practice today, is there?"

"No, my lord," Abraxas replied, waiting for orders.

"Bring him to the Quidditch pitch. Now. You may gain assistance from a few of the others if you require it. Ten minutes."

Abraxas bowed his head and hurried off, anticipation curling through his bloodstream. Tom Riddle was unbearably harsh on them, but he did not tolerate disrespect. Ever.

Tom turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction. It appeared he had found a new subject on whom to vent his ire…for now. Sliding his wand from his sleeve and ignoring the frightened looks of a few second years whom he passed in the corridor, Tom mentally flipped through spells, a slight smile crossing his lips as he decided what to do. Yes, that would work nicely.

It was an hour later when Tom finally had a chance to experiment with the drops of Hermione's blood that he'd taken from her in the infirmary. He only had half an hour before he would be expected for dinner, but that was enough time to conduct a few experiments that should give him some direction to go in with the parchment. Placing it carefully on his desk, he extracted the vial from his pocket and tipped a few drops onto it, watching it seep in and vanish. As he'd hoped, a faint bloom of ink appeared, just two blotches. Studying it carefully, one appeared to be the stem of a capital letter. Another blot a short distance away seemed to form part of an "o", but not enough was revealed to be certain.

Tom set down the vial, which contained a few more precious drops of Hermione Girard's blood, and considered whether he wanted to use it on the parchment, or on the knife. Deciding swiftly, he removed the knife from the charmed false bottom of his desk drawer and set it down on the desk, then carefully tipped the remaining droplets of blood onto it. As the blood contacted the blade, the metal glowed blue. He sat back and exhaled. Now _that_ was interesting…

* * *

Hermione was halfway through her supper tray when the infirmary doors burst open and a much younger Madame Hooch came in, levitating the body of an unconscious boy before her.

"Madame Duvalle!" the flying instructor cried, and the matron hurried over, her wand moving with practice over him. He was tall, and as he passed Hermione's bed she recognized him as the Gryffindor Seeker.

"What happened?" Madame Duvalle asked, ignoring Hermione although Madame Hooch had the sense to flick her wand and seal a curtain around the area where Madame Duvalle was working on the boy. Hermione could still hear them, though, and leaned forward as much as she dared. "Broken femur…broken tibia and fibula…broken radius and ulna, eight cracked ribs, punctured lung…"

"I went out to check the pitch and found him next to his broken broom. I suspect the fool boy was practicing without permission…I saw one Bludger coming in, it was probably that which caused this, I have no idea how the boy got into the locked supplies!"

"He wouldn't be the first hothead with detention to try to work around it for Quidditch," Madame Duvalle said with disapproval.

"What a first year," Madame Hooch said with a low groan. "How long until you can bring him 'round? I want to know exactly what happened."

"It will be at least another few hours, Rolanda. It's going to take some time to knit these ribs back together, and I expect he's going to be in too much pain to talk. I can't give him pain potion for it, either, so he's going to be quite unhappy when he regains consciousness."

Hermione suddenly wasn't hungry any more. What was the boy's name? Herecles something. Wasn't he involved in a skirmish with Abraxas Malfoy last week? She set the tray on the bedside table and Summoned her clothes, intent on sneaking out while Madame Duvalle was occupied. Unfortunately for her, the matron exited from behind the closed curtain to retrieve potions, and caught Hermione sneaking into her blouse.

"Where do you think you're going young lady? Don't think I'm above using a sticking charm, because I'm not. You are staying right here until I get another potion in you for that head, just in case you have a concussion!"

"Yes ma'am," Hermione said, finishing the last button of her blouse and sitting back against the metal headboard. Satisfied that Hermione wasn't going anywhere, Madame Duvalle retrieved the potions and returned to the injured Gryffindor. Madame Hooch excused herself, and as she was striding by, Hermione asked her, "Will he be all right?"

"Sweet on him, are you?" Madame Hooch asked, giving her the noncommittal look she reserved for older students that were no longer taking Flying. "Yes, I believe so. He's lucky that Rosier saw him heading out to the pitch, or who knows how long it would have been before he'd been found."

_Rosier_. A tendril of ice ran down Hermione's spine. There was no way that Evan Rosier 'just happened' to see Herecles going anywhere. The question was whether it was a continuing skirmish between Malfoy and Herecles, or if Tom had been involved. Before she had a chance to pursue the thought further, the doors opened again and as Madame Hooch exited in came Tom Riddle, as if her thoughts had summoned him. Madame Duvalle popped her head out from behind the curtain, then called out, "Oh, it's you Tom. I'll be out shortly, just attending to Mr. Potter."

"Has he gotten himself hurt again?" Tom drawled, never taking his eyes off of Hermione.

Hermione's heart clenched as the ice in her spine snaked forward to seize it. _Potter_! Harry had never talked about his dead grandparents—could that boy be his grandfather? Her heart started again with a rapid staccato that matched Tom Riddle's footsteps as he came over to her bed.

"I trust you're feeling better?" Tom asked solicitously, the expression in his eyes hotly malevolent in contrast to his innocent face.

"Actually I feel worse," Hermione whispered, looking away from him. What had he done? There was little doubt he was involved in whatever happened to Herecles Potter. He had not been surprised to hear the name, had not even reacted at all.

"Now, Miss Girard, time for that potion," Madame Duvalle said, coming over with a vial of Helmslips Headache Tonic. "This should take care of any residual problems."

Hermione swallowed the potion, which had a pleasant taste of wintergreen, but did absolutely nothing for the aches she was feeling now as Tom stared at her. Madame Duvalle flicked her gaze back to the screen hiding Herecles Potter.

"I say, Madame Duvalle, do you suppose it would be alright for Hermione to sleep in her own bed tonight? It seems that she is feeling better, since she is dressed; and, well, you are going to have your hands full with the clumsy Mr. Potter." The innocently helpful way in which Tom suggested it told Hermione that she definitely did NOT want to leave the infirmary tonight, and she shook her head no to the matron.

"No, I feel terrible. I would rather be cautious, and stay where you can observe me," Hermione said, just a hint of desperation in her voice. Tom, who was standing just behind Madame Duvalle, gave her a look similar to that of a cat toying with a mouse.

"Well, I don't suppose it would be a bad idea to have me check your skin again in the morning. Mr. Riddle, I believe it is your night to patrol?" Madame Duvalle's tone was no-nonsense, and Tom had no choice but to acquiesce.

"As you say, Madame. I am pleased to see that Hermione has recovered so well." With an arrogant nod at her, Tom left the infirmary, and Hermione was left with a decided feeling of unease. Clearly he was not going to forget his promise that they would have a little 'chat'.


	7. The Turn of the Knife

**Good evening. Sorry it has taken me so long to post the next chapter. I was buried with essays and lab reports to grade and had a tenure committee meeting to get behind me. I've sent some PMs to reviews, but a few more thanks below:**

**LK Hogwarts Headgirl: glad you liked it. See what happens now...**

**Angry Paradox, more hints in this chapter. Hermione isn't going to start liking Tom anytime soon.**

**CynicalJinx, welcome aboard. Do let me know what you think of this chapter...glad you like it thus far.**

**Aricaa-chan, Tom is fun to write!**

**Gracie Heartford, he's not meant to be nice. Hermione is going to stay smart.**

**Ok, so work is pressing a bit. I've gotten some easing from work stress so hopefully I can stay healthy to see me through the end of the quarter and keep the posts a bit more frequent. Thanks to all for reading & enjoy!**

* * *

"Who is playing Seeker for the Gryffindors today?" Hermione asked the next day as she left lunch with Olivia and Phineas, her thoughts straying to Herecles Potter as they neared the common room.

"I'll bet it's George Hanteford. He's usually Keeper but they don't really have anyone else who has a hope of catching the Snitch."

"What exactly happened to Herecles Potter?" Hermione asked, letting herself into the common room after answering the riddle. "I saw him come into the infirmary, and he was in terrible shape."

"Word is that he was practicing with Bludgers by himself and he got knocked off his broom," Phineas said, following behind. "That doesn't sound like him, but then again, he had the bad sense to pick a fight with Malfoy a few weeks ago as well. Not the sort of thing a sensible chap does, if you see what I'm saying."

"So you don't think this had something to do with that? We all see how the Slytherins stick together," Hermione said. "And the Head Boy is a Slytherin…he might have covered it up."

Olivia's jaw dropped open and Phineas fidgeted.

"Aren't you _dating_ him?" Olivia asked loudly, causing a titter to erupt from a group of third year Ravenclaws passing them on their way out.

"No, I am not _dating_ him," Hermione said through gritted teeth as Phineas said, "I know Tom is protective of his Slytherins, but he's also very keen to enforce school rules. What on earth made you think something like that, Hermione?"

"I just noticed how the Slytherins are standoffish with everyone else, and they do have a habit of being a bit sneaky. Witness how Evan Rosier tricked Sylvia into giving up the fresher asphodel in Potions, or how Granthus Gibbon used a jellyfish jinx on Ananias in DADA although it wasn't technically on the list of spells we were supposed to be practicing," Hermione said.

"But we were supposed to be using Stinging jinxes," Phineas said reasonably, and Olivia pitched in, "They find the loopholes. That's not always a bad thing, Hermione."

"Forget it," Hermione said coolly. Olivia and Phineas exchanged a look that conveyed perfectly how much they thought of her suggestion. As an olive branch, Olivia touched Hermione's arm briefly and said, "Well, I had better get ready for the match! Should be exciting!"

Much happier with this turn of the conversation, Phineas nodded agreeably. "Yep! Frederick Bones has been looking really good in practices—I think we have this one in the bag!"

Hermione made a polite murmur of affirmation while inside, she seethed. Couldn't they _see_ what a vile liar Tom Riddle was, him and his Slytherin cronies? Of course not. _She_ knew what he was capable of. But this was the 1940s, when witches were more concerned with getting married and the jinxes that wound up sending most students to the infirmary were conjunctivitis and itching hexes. None of these teenagers could fathom what evil truly looked like, except for Tom's followers, who lapped it up like milk because it fed their prejudices. Grindelwald was far off, a nebulous thing their parents fretted about and they read about in the papers as if it were some adventure novel. Hermione's classmates were mostly oblivious to the implications of that kind of evil, and certainly never thought such a thing could happen _here_.

"Aren't you getting your scarf, Hermione?" Olivia asked her as Hermione stopped at the stairs to the girls' dorm, Phineas dashing off to the boys' dorm for his hat and scarf. "It should be a good match today, and Ravenclaw better win!"

"No, I think I'll go visit Herecles Potter in the infirmary," Hermione said. "I feel sorry for him, and his best friends will be on the pitch instead of visiting. Plus Madame Duvalle said I might need to take another potion for my head."

Olivia shrugged and said, "Okay, but you're missing a great game!"

After Olivia and Phineas returned with their gear, they all walked down the stairs together until Hermione split off toward the infirmary, Olivia and Phineas continuing outside. A disillusioned Evan Rosier paced behind her, slipping through the doors before they closed. As he watched Hermione speak to Madame Duvalle and then take a chair over to Herecles Potter's bed, he thought to himself that Tom Riddle would not like this at all when he reported to him…and he hoped it didn't mean a Cruciatus was coming his way.

"Hello," Hermione said as she sat down next to the boy's bed. His hair was jet black, like Harry's, but it was hard to pick out any resemblance other than possibly the nose.

"Hello," he said stiffly, wincing as he tried to sit up a bit. "I'm afraid we've not met."

"No, not yet. Hermione Girard."

"Herecles Potter," he said, holding out his hand which she shook gently. Herecles then tried to sit up, but couldn't quite manage a decent angle from the grimace of pain on his face.

"Here, let me help you," Hermione said, leaning over to push another pillow behind him as gently as she could manage. "You see, I was in here when you came in, and I thought I'd come back and see how you were doing."

"Oh?" His face relaxed as he settled back into the pillows with as little movement as possible. His eyes were a dark blue, and his expression was quizzical. "Why were you in here?"

"I had a bit of a problem with a hex cast by the Head Boy," Hermione said, glad that he had brought up the subject. She wanted to see how he reacted to mention of Tom Riddle.

"You should stay away from him," Herecles said darkly. "He's no good."

"We were practicing for DADA," Hermione said. The lie sounded stupid to her own ears, and she could tell that Herecles didn't believe it either from the skeptical look he gave her.

"Of course you were."

Hermione decided to pretend nonchalance, and continued, "Besides, isn't it all about the House rivalries? After all, Slytherin and Gryffindor are known to be arch rivals, and you _are _the Seeker for Gryffindor."

"Yeah, I should be playing now," Herecles said glumly. "I hope they win."

"I'm sure they will do marvelously," Hermione said.

"Maybe," he paused and studied her briefly. "Why aren't you watching the match? Not a Quidditch fan?" Herecles seemed genuinely interested, and not just making polite conversation, so Hermione decided to give him a bit of the truth.

"Well, I used to watch a lot of matches, but that was because two of my friends played. It _is_ very exciting," Hermione said, "but I just thought you could use some company, since all of your House are probably at the match."

"Thank you," Herecles said sincerely, and Hermione was reminded of Harry for a brief, heart tugging moment. It caused an ache in her chest, and she looked away from the boy in front of her before it could show. "So why did you risk it then? Blowing off steam a bit, or really needing the practice?"

"I was practicing Quidditch as much as you were practicing hexes for DADA," Herecles muttered. "But I wouldn't say it to anyone else again."

"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered, that ache in her chest not lessening to see how early Tom Riddle had begun causing pain to others.

"I'll live," Herecles said. "What classes are you in?"

Hermione told him, and they realized the reason they had not met was because Herecles was taking Divination and Charms instead of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. They passed a happy half hour chatting about Quidditch and the merits of each House, Herecles of course attempting to persuade Hermione that Gryffindor was the very best. Hermione did her best to defend the wise Ravenclaws. Eventually Madame Duvalle shooed Hermione away from his bed after she caused Herecles to break into pained laughter for the third time. Hermione let Madame Duvalle examine her, and Evan took the opportunity to slip out of the infirmary as Madame Hooch arrived with an injured Quidditch player.

* * *

As far as Tom Riddle was concerned, it was a happy coincidence that Hermione had not gone to the Quidditch match that afternoon. When Rosier had told him that Hermione had visited with Herecles Potter for more than half an hour, Tom had decided that this evening was an excellent time to have his little chat with Hermione Girard. Since half of her house was skipping the meal in favor of celebrating their victory in the Ravenclaw common room, it was an easy matter to invent an excuse to retrieve her. Politely answering the riddle of the knocker, Tom stepped through to the chaotic celebration of Ravenclaw house and pulled aside Geoffrey Douling, the seventh year prefect.

"Geoffrey, I've been sent with a message for Miss Girard from Madame Duvalle. Apparently there is a potion she forgot to take earlier today. Could you tell her that Madame Duvalle wants her in the infirmary now?"

Geoffrey nodded and Tom showed himself out, quite satisfied that Hermione would head toward the infirmary in short order.

"Hermione!"

Hermione turned from her bottle of Butterbeer to find Geoffrey Douling waiting.

"Yes?"

Geoffrey leaned in to be heard over the wizarding wireless. "Madame Duvalle needs you to come to the infirmary. She says you need a potion."

Hermione sighed. She had been afraid of that, since Madame Duvalle had been distracted by the injured Quidditch player.

"Do I need to go now?"

Geoffrey nodded and Hermione sighed. Handing her Butterbeer to Olivia, she said loudly, "Be back in a bit!"

Olivia nodded and Hermione started to head toward the door. A thought struck her and she grabbed Geoffrey's sleeve before he could move off. "I'm not sure I remember how to get to the infirmary! Can you take me?"

To give him his due, Geoffrey refrained from rolling his eyes, but Hermione could tell he found it inconvenient. Politeness compelled him to acquiesce, however, and with a "Come on then!" he headed out the portrait hole, Hermione behind. Grateful to have an escort, Hermione kept up with his quick pace. They were a floor away from the infirmary when she heard footsteps on the stairs behind them, accompanied by the voice she dreaded.

"I didn't expect you would be out of your House at this hour, Geoffrey," Tom said politely, easily catching up to them on the stairs.

"Miss Girard couldn't remember the way to the infirmary," Geoffrey said, and Tom turned his attention to Hermione.

"Well, that is a happy coincidence. I am headed there myself on an errand. I could show her the rest of the way."

"No, that's okay—" Hermione began but she was cut off by Geoffrey.

"Would you? That would be great, Tom." Without even waiting for Hermione's acknowledgement, the Ravenclaw prefect nodded his head curtly and turned back up the stairs as Tom Riddle easily fell in step beside her.

Hermione let her wand ease its way down her sleeve. She had not forgotten that Tom was still pissed about the hexing. It was with great relief, therefore, that Hermione entered the infirmary, Tom Riddle right behind.

"Madame Duvalle, I have those potions from Professor Slughorn for you, and Miss Girard is here about her headache potion."

Madame Duvalle came over and retrieved the potions from Tom, and eyed Hermione critically. "Yes, just one moment. Thank you Tom."

As soon as Madame Duvalle was out of earshot, Hermione said, "Thank you for your escort. I can find my own way back."

Tom merely looked at her innocently and said, "But I wouldn't want you to get lost, Miss Girard. I wouldn't want Geoffrey to accuse me of losing one of his housemates in the castle."

Madame Duvalle came back with a vial of potion and strict instructions. "Just before bed, Miss Girard, as you'll be sleepy indeed after this."

"Thank you Madame," Hermione said, wracking her brain for some reason, any reason, to have Madame Duvalle send Tom Riddle away. "Madame Duvalle, I know Tom wouldn't think to mention it, but he was having some difficulty with—"

Tom cut her off before she could say anything further, a wordless Silencio shutting off her vocal cords as effectively as a gag. "—with an allergic reaction to some improperly prepared bisulfate of aubis, but Professor Slughorn fixed me right up. It's how I came to have those potions for you. Thank you Madame—let's go Hermione. I'll escort you back to Ravenclaw Tower."

Hermione tried to cast a wordless Sticking charm on herself, but Tom blocked it as the matron moved off, and propelled her out the door.

"I think it's time you and I had that little chat, Hermione," Tom said, taking her arm firmly in hand, prepared for whatever else she might attempt to get away from him. He waited until they were on the fourth floor staircase to remove the silencing spell from Hermione, whose mouth had been moving non-stop in what were doubtless unpleasant pronouncements about his character.

"What did you do to Herecles Potter?" Hermione said, more a way to distract herself from the panic that was trying to override her brain as they moved swiftly up the stairs, Hermione walking faster than her normal pace to keep up with Tom Riddle's longer strides. The hallways were mostly empty, as these were prime socializing hours for those celebrating or bemoaning the match in their common rooms. Hermione considered where to best attempt to get away from him.

"Your impertinence knows no bounds," Tom muttered to himself, and Hermione again felt chilled.

"I'd be stupid to think that you or one of your lackeys didn't have something to do with him being back in the infirmary," Hermione responded, more scared by his unflappable calm than when he was irritated with her.

Tom stopped on the sixth floor landing and tilted his head as he looked at her. "I think I'm going to enjoy our little conversation this evening, Hermione."

Hermione attempted to wrest her arm away from him when he pulled her up the next staircase. She knew exactly where he was heading—the Room of Requirement.

"Let me go," Hermione said, attempting to use her wand now that they were close to the corridor and no one was around. She cast three jinxes in quick succession, but Tom was ready for her.

"I don't think so," Tom said, wordlessly and wandlessly removing her wand from her hand before she could block him. Hermione waited until he was walking in front of the opening before she tried a wandless and wordless stunning spell, throwing it and attempting to run. Quicker than she could see, Tom had his yew wand out and Stupefied her, letting her fall to the ground on her side, which bruised her shoulder and hip. She couldn't even yell in pain as she hit the stone floor, only saw his shoes resume opening the room and then coming toward her. Wordlessly he released the Stupefy, and Hermione felt a tear slide down her cheek onto the floor as he watched her dispassionately.

"That was almost a Slytherin move, Hermione. I would applaud such a reaction toward anyone other than myself. Now get up, and face your punishment like the smart girl that I know you are."

Hermione knew that this was going to be worse than Bellatrix Lestrange. There was something in his expression that hinted at the Dark Lord he was becoming. She got up stiffly, feeling the pain in her shoulder and hip. She took a deep breath, forcing her mind to calm. Snape had always said she was very centered in her magic. Now she needed that skill. She calmly packed away her panic as Tom Riddle shuffled her quickly inside, the door vanishing behind them as they entered what looked like a barren room, torches along the wooden, paneled walls providing the only light.

"Now, Hermione, suppose you tell me more about your recent arrival here," Tom began, his wand dangling lazily from his fingers as he surveyed her.

"No," Hermione said, looking him straight in the eye before she looked away as he raised his wand.

"_Crucio_."

The word slipped so easily from his lips, almost a caress before the curse hit, causing her to instantly fall to her knees on the stone floor, then onto her face as she writhed with pain, her screams pulled from the depth of her throat. He held it for a full minute before he stopped, then walked over to her as she lay panting, trying to catch her breath and get over the fire racing along every nerve.

"Now, let's try that again. How did you come here?"

_Such a pleasant voice for someone so cruel_, Hermione thought, drawing in one more long breath before she quietly said, "No."

It did not surprise Tom that she was being stubborn. Hermione felt herself being jerked painfully to her feet, then she screamed in pain as he pinned her to the wall quickly with a small dagger, driving it easily through her already bruised shoulder.

"Do you recognize this dagger, Hermione?" Tom asked, stepping back and watching her try to raise her right hand to remove it, gasping in pain as she was unable to do so. Tears were falling freely from her face now, and Tom tilted his head to study her. "I found it in your body, exactly that way, the night you arrived. Now, why would that be? You can stop trying to remove it—it's magically keyed to me, and me alone. I know, because I've already played with it with my Knights—or _lackeys_, as you call them. Why would someone send you here with that dagger keyed specifically to me?"

He paused, watching the emotions play across her face. _Pain, fear, anger, iron will…oh she is intriguing!_

"I don't know," Hermione said through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the pain; the throbbing, burning pain now intensifying steadily in her shoulder and still throbbing throughout her body.

"As charming as it is to think that Gellert Grindelwald knows who I am, I hardly think that to be the case. Now, why were you sent here?"

His voice was still so pleasant, so well modulated, as if they were having a chat over a cup of tea and biscuits, and not over her spilling blood and body wracking with spasms from the Cruciatus curse. Hermione's mind was whirling, searching for a likely possibility, an excuse that would get her out of this torture chamber and away from Tom Riddle forever.

"I don't know! Maybe it reacts to strong magical power, not you specifically! Maybe it was meant for someone else to find!"

She was practically sobbing now, the blood oozing from around the blade and pooling on the floor. He might have nicked her subclavian artery, in which case she was going to be in serious trouble soon if he didn't stop.

"Hmmmm…that is a possibility, I grant you. It would be difficult to tell if Dumbledore could have removed it." He walked over and pulled it out with a quick backward motion, and Hermione could not help herself, she slid to the floor at his feet. "Nonetheless, you have been very recalcitrant, Hermione."

She could see the reflection of her pale face in his shoes. He crouched down and pushed her back against the wall with one hand, looking right into her eyes. "I don't think you'll be able to leave here until you show me what I want to see, Hermione," Tom said, pointing his wand and wordlessly casting the spell.

Hermione focused on her Occlumency shield. _He will not see what he chooses in my mind!_ She remembered what Snape had said, centered herself deep within, her magic a bedrock buried beneath the ever tossing, opaque currents of her mind, pinning down all of her memories, her magical self. With an enormous amount of effort and energy, she pushed him out of her mind forcefully.

"NO!" she yelled at him, collapsing back to the floor as he sat back on his heels.

"_Crucio_," Tom said again cruelly, his wand flicking almost without thought as he considered her. After two minutes, when her hair was soaked with her own blood from her thrashing on the floor and she was almost incoherent, he tried Legilimency again, gripping her hair to pull her head up so he could see her eyes.

Hermione could feel herself growing cold, but she _would. NOT. LET. HIM._ _SEE! _"You'll have to kill me," she whispered, the unflinching steel in her trembling voice and the growing coldness of her eyes finally convincing him to stop. Tom wondered again about the note that was affixed to her, and he decided that he was missing a key piece of information. It wouldn't do to simply collect her blood and view the note later—he would have to do that now, in her presence. He supposed it wouldn't make any difference after the fact in any case.

"I'm going to retrieve another little item that you arrived with, Hermione," he said coolly, standing up and casting a Scourgify on himself before he left the room. It wouldn't do to be seen with blood on his robes out in the halls. He cast a glance back at her and saw that she possessed a very unhealthy pallor, her body still wracking slightly from the Cruciatus. _Hmmmm_…

Hermione saw his feet come over again, and she was lifted up to lean back against the wall, and Tom Riddle again crouched before her.

"_Vulnera Sanentur_," he said tonelessly, satisfied when the wound ceased its blood flow. "Wait here, Hermione. I'll be back in about fifteen minutes."

"As if…I…could…leave…" Hermione said through chattering teeth. Tom smiled.

"I knew you were clever."

* * *

Hermione thought about many things as she sat, or rather, leaned against the wooden wall in the Room of Requirement. She thought about when she had been sent back to this time, the agony of the spell as it hit her and the welcome she had given the black void of unconsciousness when it had finally claimed her. She could see it fading away here, the respite from Tom's curses enough for her mind to pull back from that blissful relief offered by unconsciousness.

The Cruciatus curse as cast by Voldemort himself was indescribable. Bellatrix Lestrange had a wicked curse, but Tom Riddle as a teenage boy topped her. She wondered how Severus Snape and other Death Eaters had tolerated Voldemort's wand when it was turned on them. _Something_ must have kept them in service to him, because she could not imagine fear alone providing enough compulsion to do so.

She tried hard not to consider her current situation too much. If he killed her, he would have another death to explain, and as she was posing as a relative of Dumbledore's, he was highly unlikely to do so. He could not afford to have Dumbledore breathing down his back again, given how he had never used the Chamber of Secrets again after Dumbledore suspected him of opening it last year. It showed that Dumbledore had been quite clever indeed to have her pose as his relation. Tom Riddle would not dare to kill her outright.

Of course, this line of thought led her to the next logical conclusion. He would Obliviate her. He would have to do so. There was no way he could risk her going to Dumbledore with her memories of this evening. There had to be some way she could remind herself of what really happened. Suddenly the idea came to her. She slumped to the side, her hands scrabbling inefficiently for something sharp. She closed her eyes and thought hard, "_I need a nail. This is the Room of Requirement. I need a nail, a sharp splinter of wood, something sharp._"

She opened her eyes and saw something glinting on the floor a few feet away. Begging her muscles to cooperate, she dragged herself toward it slowly, painfully. She didn't know how long Tom had been gone, but she needed this, so desperately. It skittered closer to her on the floor, and her fingers convulsed around it. _Oh well, what is a bit more blood?_ Hermione thought as she clumsily dropped the shard of glass in her lap, and pushed her sleeve up to reveal the scarred 'Mudblood' on her left forearm. Gripping the shard as best she could, Hermione scratched clumsily through the letters. She just needed it to be visible and irritated. She doubted Tom would use a different spell to heal her, and _Vulnera Sanentur_ didn't work on minor injuries. She cried out once when the shard slipped in her grasp and she cut deeper than she'd intended on one of the 'o's, but she persisted, the shard slipping on the downward stroke of the second 'o' when she heard the door reforming. As it began to rasp open, she threw the shard as far as she could manage into the shadows, tugging her sleeve down as she cradled her wounded fingers in that sleeve of her robe. She prayed Tom wouldn't notice, could only hear him as he returned, her twisting around to get the shard resulting in her back being to the door.

"I do hope your being on the floor is not a result of an ill-advised attempt to leave," Tom said, levitating her back into place with his wand.

"I. Fell. Over." Hermione enunciated very clearly, the spasms somehow worse now that she was back in Tom's presence.

"Of course you did," Tom said, then took the folded slip of parchment from his pocket and dipped it into the pool of her blood on the floor. Hermione was half afraid, half fascinated as it soaked up the blood, the parchment remaining pristine for several seconds. Then, she saw handwriting start to appear. Hermione tried to read it, but Tom was quick and tilted it away from her, his brow furrowing as he read two words that scrawled across the folded square.

Tom was expecting something unusual, given the amount of effort that had gone into getting this note here, but as he watched his own name, in his own handwriting, flush into the parchment, he knew that Hermione Girard was far, far different from what he was expecting. He unfolded the note, keeping an eye on the girl. His heart was racing as his mind leapt along, making connections and piecing together how she arrived here. His hand betrayed a small tremor as more words bloomed across the page in his own handwriting.

_Protect her._

More ink began to bloom lazily through, the words whispering in, the ink a faint, pale grey in contrast to the bold black above.

_Claim her._

As soon as this appeared, a bold black arrow crossed through it, and above his hand wrote in _Willing_.

A last black line crossed through or underneath words that were still invisible below. Tom stared at the page for another minute, but no other words appeared.

_Bloody buggering hell_, Tom thought to himself. He raised his eyes to look at her again. Why would he send her back to himself? And from how far in the future? An almost euphoric rush flew through him as he realized that he would master time travel at some point, that this girl sitting before him had countless, priceless knowledge locked inside her brain. Her stubborn, hard to break into brain. The reason his future self specified "willing" was already obvious on one level: if he forced his way into her mind, he risked damaging her memories, and definitely would damage her. His eyes narrowed as his mind made the first pass through this dilemma. He would have to consider it all very carefully.

"What does it…say?" Hermione asked, gaining some control over her jaw. The longer he stared at the parchment, the more nervous she grew. She could see his name on the outside, and she was pretty clear now on who had cast that spell at the final battle. Her teeth chattered together as cold permeated her soul. Somehow, Lord Voldemort had managed to talk to his past self, and she was the means by which he had done so. She could almost hear the timeline being ripped to shreds.

"Something very, very interesting, dear Hermione," Tom said, fixing her with an unreadable look, his mind racing through and discarding possibilities.

Hermione felt sheer terror at the thought of what he could have said, how he could have instructed himself to avoid future mistakes. Then her mind turned to what he could have said about _her_, the 'dear' in Tom's address finally registering. She felt colder than she had ever felt in her life, the shock putting an enormous strain on her body on top of what it had already suffered.

"No more questions?" Tom tsked in a playful manner, his mind still dissecting the implications of the note in his hand. But that could wait—for now, he had to deal with dear Hermione.

"C-c-cold," Hermione said, her pale face finally registering again with Tom as she blinked her eyes heavily. He folded the parchment and put it back in his pocket, pushing her back against the wall and flicking his wand to undo the buttons of her blouse and robes. He shoved the fabric aside to get a good look at the wound, then aimed his wand at the large gash in her shoulder. "_Vulnera Sanentur_," he said, pushing as much magic into the spell as possible. He watched the flesh seam back together, some of the blood from the floor running back up and in as it closed.

Hermione felt the pain easing, easing in her shoulder, then heard Tom mumble something else, the jet of white lassoing around her body and lessening the fire, quenching it along her nerve endings. She felt very sleepy, but Tom's voice cut through the mental fog sharply.

"Drink this."

"No," Hermione said mulishly, and Tom grimaced, a flash of irritation passing over his face.

"It's a combination potion, blood replenisher and pain reducer. Drink it!"

"No," Hermione said, turning her head away.

Tom considered using the Imperius, but given her Occlumency skill he didn't doubt that it would do too much damage to force himself in. However, there was still the Obliviate…leaning back on his heels, he Scourgified her twice, then levitated her to her feet and Obliviated her with clinical precision.

"Hermione, I'm going to take you back to your room now. Before I leave you, you will swallow this potion and then go straight to bed, where you will go to sleep. You got dizzy returning from the infirmary and grazed your side on a statue. We didn't see anyone on the way back, and everyone in the common room was busy celebrating the match so you won't say good night. You won't speak to anyone on your way to bed. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Tom."

"Good girl. Let's get going."


	8. Groundwork

**Relatela, that's why I did it! What will he do now? Hehe.**

**Atlantean Diva, glad you liked it!**

**SkyBlue and Hogwarts Headgirl, thank you. :)**

**CynicalJinx, I can promise plenty more of that.**

**Ok, staring down a work week but this chapter is going up first. It's a bit longer than I usually prefer but it was a natural chapter break given the next swathe to come in the story. Please let me know what you think, and thanks to JKR for the inspiration!**

* * *

When Hermione woke late the next morning, her body ached all over and her throat was parched, as if she had been left in the sun for days. She reached under her pillow for her wand and found it where it usually was. Her fingers curled around the wood, then pulled it out and cast a soft _Tempus_. Eleven! She remembered that it was Sunday, but still, her roommates should have woken her up. She flinched, her sore muscles protesting. Why was she so sore?

She sat up and flicked the bed curtains back. Thankfully the day was overcast, so she wasn't blinded by the sunlight flooding the room. She realized that she was still in her school uniform—why? She pulled herself out of bed and grabbed fresh clothes from her trunk, then headed for the bathroom. She needed a shower…her hair _smelled_. What was that? Kind of earthy, minerals…Hermione stopped as she took off her blouse, her eyes finally falling on the scar she hid from everyone. The ugly word was red again, the letters re-inked in thin, broken scabs. Her mind replayed the events of yesterday afternoon: the visit with Herecles, the party celebrating the Quidditch win, going to the infirmary and Tom "escorting" her back to her dorm. Hermione sagged against the wall as the memories tumbled through, hitting the hazy fog of the early evening.

"He _Crucio_'ed me," she whispered to herself. It was the only thing that made sense given how sore she was all over. Then he'd Obliviated her, too afraid to let anything truly terrible happen to Dumbledore's relative. And at some point he must have left her alone, because she doubted he would have bothered looking her over for suspicious scars. She must have scratched her own arm to remind herself of what he'd done. He was the only one she associated with that sentiment in this timeline, the only one daring enough to torture someone who refused to answer his questions.

Angrily Hermione stripped off the rest of her clothes and stepped into the shower, suddenly feeling dirtier. As the water hit her hair, the faint odor intensified slightly, and Hermione recognized it at last: blood. But the thought that really tormented her as she scrubbed her skin pink and washed her hair three times was: what did she tell him? What did he see? No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't remember—and it was this that caused her to at last sink to her knees in the shower, tears falling down her face as she wondered what she would do.

When she descended the stairs to go to lunch, Phineas and Olivia were lounging on the sofa, obviously waiting for her. She had decided to speak to Dumbledore. If Tom had found anything out about her origins, she wouldn't know it, but Dumbledore should know what had happened. It seemed difficult to believe that Tom Riddle hadn't learned anything from her, and the possibility that he had was too great to ignore.

"Hey, sleepyhead!" Phineas called cheerfully. "I guess you know better than to try to practice hexes with Tom Riddle now, huh? Don't worry, Merrythought won't pair you with him in DADA."

Hermione blinked once in shock, then realized that Phineas was joking about Tom's cover story, and had assumed her trip to the infirmary signified lingering effects from the hex Tom had cast on her in the library.

"Yes, that's right," Hermione said tightly, turning her attention to her roommate. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"Oh, Tom said Madame Duvalle recommended letting you rest, so we figured it was better to just let you sleep. It's not like you've missed anything."

_I'll just bet he did_, Hermione thought, then forced herself to respond normally.

"Are you going to lunch?" Hermione asked, unwilling to go down by herself. She refused to miss another meal due to that evil boy.

"Yes, let's go down," Phineas agreed. "I'm so hungry I could eat a hippogriff."

In the Great Hall, Tom was wondering idly if Hermione would make an appearance for luncheon. It was unsurprising to him that she hadn't made it to breakfast, and a quick chat with one of the Ravenclaw prefects had revealed that she had slept right through it. Well, that was the usual outcome after one of his little 'chats'. Actually, usually they didn't come for any meals the next day. It would be interesting to see if his healing spells sped up the recovery time.

When they got there, Hermione noticed that Professor Dumbledore was still absent. Sophie noticed her darted glance to the High Table and remarked, "I'm sure you must know when Professor Dumbledore will return, Hermione. Wiselworth as a sub is dead boring, plus he's assigning an extra foot of parchment on his essays!"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know when he'll return, sorry. He's a very busy wizard." She helped herself to some bread, and thankfully nodded when Phineas offered her a bowl of soup.

A satisfied expression flitted across Tom's face as Hermione entered the hall with her two Ravenclaw friends. Abraxas noted it and its object, and asked in low tones, "How did your chat go with Miss Girard?"

Tom fixed Abraxas with a warning look. "You'll be informed when and if I deem it necessary."

Satisfied that Abraxas took the hint, Tom returned his attention to Hermione, who was eating lightly, but still eating. Another positive for his work, although he really hadn't doubted it. He wondered if she was still sore, but doubted she would be in the mood to tell him. She had flashed a dark look of hatred at him when he caught her eye as she entered the hall, and Tom reflected on the "willing" addendum to his note. Clearly she felt strongly about him, that was something. Now he would have to work to turn it to more conducive, friendly feelings.

He had thought long and hard about his note last night, turning it over, looking for any subtle differences in his handwriting; then parsing why the middle text, "Claim her" was in grey ink and the rest that he could read was bold black. It seemed logical that he had written that first, partially erased, then stopped and added the additional instructions. It was quite intriguing. He specifically hadn't said, "Mark her," which meant she wasn't to be one of his followers. However, she must be quite valuable, as Lord Voldemort wanted her for himself. Furthermore, he had wanted her so badly that he had gone to the trouble of sending her back in time to his younger self to ensure that she became so...which meant that she would never willing become so in the future.

It was a waste of time to speculate as to what she was in the future—he would learn that from Hermione herself soon enough. Somehow he doubted she was lying about her age, she was too young and naïve to be an Auror or holder of some other dangerous position. Her performance in DADA and then in private were in deep contrast, however, and Tom suspected he would need to clear that up before he decided how best to proceed.

He turned his thoughts back to the half-erased command…his future self wasn't sure whether it was the best course? Or he wasn't sure what he meant by "claim"? There were many permutations Tom could take with that verb—sexually, by blood, by vow or magical bond…and his future self had not been specific. It was a short note, too, leading him to believe it had been written in haste, and the deed done in haste—a last minute act, quite likely of great importance then. Tom was not an overly impulsive man, and he doubted he became more so with time. He planned everything carefully, to a great degree—and yet he had sent this girl back in time with very abrupt, vague commands.

Now Tom thought about the missing command. He had little doubt that that is what it was, lying beneath the crossed out black line. Whatever it was, he would have to have Hermione claimed in some way before he could read it. He suspected the only thing that would cause those final words to bloom across the parchment was Hermione's blood, willingly given to him.

He noticed that Hermione had finished her lunch and was leaving the Great Hall with her companions, probably heading to the library. Rosier rose from his seat at the same time to follow them, and Tom turned his attention to Abraxas.

"I want a meeting this evening. 11 PM. There have been some…developments which require my Knights' attention."

"Yes, my lord," Abraxas said, bowing his head slightly in a gesture many would mistake for a rearrangement of his hair, if anyone was watching them in the nearly empty Great Hall.

* * *

"Your performances this evening are barely bordering on acceptable."

The coldness of his tone left little doubt that Lord Voldemort was displeased about something. Evan swallowed hard, aware that his report about Hermione Girard chatting and laughing with Herecles Potter in the library this afternoon had not been well received at all.

"_Crucio_." It was barely a whisper but every cell in his body trembled and burst, or so it felt to Evan Rosier as he fell gasping to the floor. He wasn't a screamer under Tom's wand, but that was probably worse, because it felt like he held his curses longer because of it. Another body flicked to the floor beside him—Granthus Gibbon.

"Mr. Rosier and Mr. Gibbon demonstrated an appalling lack of concentration while attempting to perform the Imperius." Finally Tom flicked his wand away, leaving Evan and Granthus to pull themselves together and scrape their bodies off the floor and back into the kneeling position Tom required of all of his Knights.

"Mr. Malfoy, on the other hand, seems to have an alacrity for the Imperius curse," Tom noted. "Let's be sure he appreciates its full effects—_Imperio!_"

The rest of the Knights watched impassively as Lord Voldemort made Abraxas Malfoy pick up a sharp dagger and begin cutting himself on his arms with it.

"That's enough, Mr. Malfoy. Heal yourself, and clean it up," Tom said, and watched as Malfoy did just that, turning his wand dully to the cuts, then getting down on his hands and knees to begin wiping up the blood from the dirty floor with his robes. "Enough."

Tom waved his wand again and Abraxas kneeled stiffly, his face a stolid mask even after his release from the Imperius.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy, never forget the importance of blood. Your blood spilled gives an enemy a potent entry into your being. Protect your blood, and you protect your life—even if it means throwing off an Imperius curse, do you understand me?"

"Yes, my lord."

Satisfied that he had made his point, Tom turned again to Rosier.

"Fortunately for Mr. Rosier, he also brought some interesting information about Miss Hermione Girard, the special subject of this little session," Tom said, fully comfortable that his wand had brought his followers' full attention to bear. They were all apt pupils, but they required the occasional application of a bit of discipline to remain well-trained.

"Miss Girard arrived here in highly unusual circumstances. I have now discovered what precipitated her arrival, and suffice it to say, she is of great interest to me on multiple levels because of it. Let me make something very clear: I mean to _acquire_ Miss Girard by whatever means necessary. I, and only I, will dictate how she is to be treated. Therefore, you had best pay close attention to what I tell you now: Miss Girard's secrets are mine to uncover, and mine _alone_. You will not breathe a word of my interest in her to _anyone, ever_. If I even hear a whisper that one of you has mentioned her or even an anonymous individual as the subject of my interest to your parents, friends, or family, _I will wipe you and every one of them from the face of this earth_. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, my lord!" they all shouted, and Tom raised his wand to quiet them.

"Now, it has come to my attention that Miss Girard has made an undesirable acquaintance, the estimable Gryffindor Seeker. I want to know if Miss Girard spends any company with him. Do not interfere unless they are alone, in which case, I expected to be summoned. I also expect you to keep Miss Girard out of any unpleasant scuffles. Likewise, I expect to be apprised if any professor shows an undue interest in Miss Girard."

He waited for his Knights to acknowledge his orders, then continued when they each nodded in turn when he looked at them.

"Good. Rest assured, the value Miss Girard offers will pay rich dividends in the future, my Knights—and I am not referring to something so trivial as money. Now, I require the assistance of Mr. Malfoy in class on Monday."

"I am honored, my lord," Abraxas said, looking up at Tom's face.

"I suspect Miss Girard is hiding her light under a bushel, Abraxas; and you are going to help topple that basket over," Tom said, his voice rich with satisfaction. "Now, this is what you will do…"

* * *

"Dueling!" Professor Merrythought began, clapping her wrinkled hands together. Hermione wrenched her attention from the sleet outside, the miserable weather of November making the halls cold and drafty. Anyone looking at the diminutive woman at the front of the room would seriously underestimate her, but the professor seemed to be going at full steam still. Nonetheless, Hermione knew that Merrythought was thinking about retiring, and she saw how Riddle ingratiated himself to her. It therefore had rocketed to the top of her "most dangerous class" list, with Potions being a close second.

"You are in your final year of study; therefore it becomes more imperative than ever to put your skills into practice; not just against the dangerous creatures you might encounter, but also your fellow wizard or witch who have been tempted to take a _dark path_."

Hermione thought the way the professor said that made her sound like a melodramatic Muggle storyteller. It was no wonder the vast majority of her classmates didn't take the threat of dark wizards very seriously if this is how she always talked about the subject. She had to admit the woman was a better teacher than most of her previous DADA professors, however, Snape and Lupin excluded.

"Can you imagine having to deal with a dark wizard here in Britain? I imagine it's different in France…" Olivia stopped herself mid-whisper as she realized who she was talking to, but Hermione ignored the reference utterly. Her roommate might have the luxury of thinking she didn't have to worry about things like this, but Hermione knew this was essential practice. It was highly unfortunate that it had to occur under the devil's own nose.

"Now, to that end, we will begin practicing dueling during class. In addition, you will have three major assignments that will require teamwork and spur of the moment thinking, the conditions under which you will most often find yourself confronting the Dark Arts."

Hermione let out a small sigh while with the majority of her classmates groaned, but for an entirely different reason. She was quite prepared to defend herself, but she didn't want to do too good a job, lest she attract Tom's attention again. He had been leaving her alone since that evening, and she didn't know whether she should be relieved, or worried about what he may have learned. So she went back and forth between both. Now she would have to hope that the duels were simultaneous, so that he couldn't pay too much attention to what she did.

"Now, I will assign your partners based on your dueling proficiencies, and design the group projects accordingly! Don't hold back, please. I will know if you do," Merrythought said, fixing Hermione with a stare that spoke volumes. _I'm fucked_, Hermione thought to herself. Clearly, Tom had spoken to Professor Merrythought in advance. _Damn, damn, damn!_

Despite her wishes to the contrary, Professor Merrythought intended the duels to be one on one while the rest of the class looked on. She lurked in the middle of a group of her classmates, knowing that the professor couldn't possibly get through the whole class today. She could be ill tomorrow and avoid the whole affair. Hermione's relief was short-lived, however. After half the class had practiced dueling on the platform, Professor Merrythought chirped, "Miss Girard, and Mr. Malfoy!"

Hermione felt a bit cheered at this pairing, at least. She didn't like Abraxas Malfoy any better than she had liked his grandson, but she knew she would be able to hold her own against him. Furthermore when it was necessary to 'lose' she could pick a spell that wouldn't be too bad and just fumble her shielding.

"Good luck Hermione!" Olivia whispered as she walked past. Hermione murmured, "Thanks," and approached the dueling platform. The sooner they began, the sooner it would be over and she could fade back as the bookworm once again. She faced him in the customary dueling posture, and swept her wand stiffly in the required salute.

The duel began predictably enough, with a couple of stinging jinxes exchanged. When Abraxas leered at her, she put it down to his usual boorishness. However, as he parried her half-hearted jinxes and sent his own flying for her to competently block, it was clear that he was focused on being a _complete_ boor, in every sense of the word! Hermione blocked stinging jinxes sent toward her breasts, doing her best to ignore the lecherous looks he gave her when the professor was making notes on her clipboard. The rest of the class was giggling, and the only thing that kept her temper in check was the certainty that Tom Riddle must be behind this. She stole a glance at the Head Boy, but he had a visible frown on his face and it gave Hermione's brain a moment's pause in her certainty of that fact, sending a stunning spell with a bit more force than she intended at Abraxas to make up for her split second inattention. Abraxas smirked, and she lost it when he sent a tickling hex straight at her inner thigh, then blew a kiss when Professor Merrythought's back was turned.

"_Avis oppugno_!" Hermione said fiercely, directing the birds at Abraxas with pointed accuracy. He didn't manage to block them all, some pecking him on the head before he vanished them, sending a stunning spell back at her. Hermione blocked it and threw a jelly legs jinx, another stunner, then "_Locomotor mortis_!" in rapid succession, causing Abraxas to topple over, his body completely petrified.

"Oh, well done, Miss Girard!" Professor Merrythought beamed as the rest of the class clapped, and Hermione flushed as she caught the eye of one Tom Riddle, who bowed his head in compliment briefly, his eyes sparkling. _Shit_!

Hermione nearly forgot to shake Abraxas' hand after she muttered "_Finite incantatem_," in his general direction, so anxious was she to get off the platform and blend back into the safety of the Ravenclaws. She murmured thanks to the effusions of her classmates, and watched miserably as the rest of the class went through their duels. Poor Ananias Wigsbury was paired with Tom, and it didn't take more than one stunner from the Head Boy to send her housemate reeling from the platform. Hermione knew he was one of Phineas' roommates, and she saw her friend patting Ananias' shoulder to cheer him up as he walked away from the dueling platform.

"Well, it's the effort, dear," Professor Merrythought said as the Ravenclaw passed by her as she scribbled in the clipboard. "That's all for today, class! Expect the list of dueling pairs to be up by Wednesday."

Recognizing their dismissal, Hermione grabbed her bookbag and made a beeline for the exit and the safety of Ancient Runes, where she wouldn't feel Tom Riddle's prying eyes boring into the back of her head.

* * *

"Hermione, I wonder if I might have a word," Tom said lightly, cornering his quarry a few days later as she neared the library. She was utterly predictable. He saw Rosier slipping away, satisfied that at least his Knights were taking their commissions seriously.

"I have nothing to say to you," Hermione said, then attempted to brush past him.

"I believe you have a free period now. Let's take a walk toward the lake," Tom said loudly, ignoring her reply entirely and taking her arm and her bag. Hermione was now faced with the choice of attempting to wrestle her bag, which contained her homework for her remaining two classes, away from him, or going along and trusting he wouldn't do anything horrid in full view of the Quidditch field, where the first years were having flying lessons.

"Let go of me," she hissed, pulling her arm away from him and stalking off in the direction of the lake, casting a warming charm on herself. Tom gave an unaffected shrug to two Hufflepuff fifth years who were whispering and looking at them, and they scampered off with giggles as Tom followed Hermione. He caught up with her when she was closer to the lake, where she had stopped and was just looking out toward the lake and Forbidden Forest.

"What do you want?" she asked without preamble.

"You've been ignoring me, Hermione. I want to know why," Tom said, putting her bookbag down on the damp ground. "Look at me when I'm talking to you," he said, taking her arm again.

"Don't touch me!" Hermione retorted, whirling to face him. "How dare you, after you put me under the Cruciatus curse!"

Tom's eyebrows rose at that. She must have done something to herself while he was out of the room so she would know something had happened, that clever bitch. When he reflected on it later, he would add it to the growing list of reasons why his future self was so keen to acquire her.

"What makes you think I did that?" he said coolly, putting his hands in his pockets in a casual gesture, his fingers brushing against his yew wand. That would be short-sighted, however, and he was playing a very long game with Hermione Girard, if that was even her name.

"I was aching all over when I woke up that day. I'm not an idiot," Hermione said, then looked away when a calculating expression entered his eyes.

"But how would you know that, Hermione, if you've never experienced it before?" he asked innocently, and Hermione mentally cursed him for being so damn clever.

"I've read about it, and I don't remember what happened when you walked me back to my dorm," she lied. "I've heard plenty about you, it wasn't hard to figure out."

"I'm surprised you of all people would believe such rumors, Hermione. How do you know you didn't suffer a seizure in the halls from your head injury? And that I helped you back to your common room, and made you take a potion Madame Duvalle sent for you to take, which made the evening's conclusion hazy?"

He said it so lazily, as if it were common knowledge, that Hermione had to clamp down on her tongue before she mentioned her scar, how she had left herself an unmistakable message about what he had done. Tom saw the flash of anger across her face, and noted it. She was incredibly strong-willed, but eventually, all of her secrets would be known to him. He grew more determined about it after every sparring session with her.

"Have it your way. I am still not interested in your company," Hermione replied coolly, adopting an air of indifference.

"But I'm very interested in your company, Hermione. For example, the apparently cool relationship you have with Professor Dumbledore, even though he is supposedly a relation of yours. Why is that?" Tom's tone was innocent, but Hermione knew he was picking at every sore point in her story with methodical precision.

"He's not exactly a close relative, and I'm already of age. He is of the opinion that I'm best served to make friends my own age and not rely on him too much for advice. Besides, he's very busy. You know as well as I do that he's traveling at the moment." It was a lame excuse to her own ears, and Tom's expression left little doubt that he found it so as well.

"What about Christmas? Are you going with him to visit your extended family?" he poked, laughing internally at her expense. She was terrible at hiding her emotions from him, something that benefited him enormously.

"We haven't discussed it," Hermione said stiffly. "Are you quite through interrogating me? Because I have a class to attend."

"Are you attending the Slug Club supper on Friday?" Tom asked, picking up her bag again before she was able to do so herself.

"I'm going with Phineas," Hermione said, not about to give him another opportunity to escort her anywhere private again.

"Not a date, I trust," Tom said lightly, casting a sideways glance at the witch just to catch her reaction. She did not disappoint him.

"How dare you," she whispered fiercely, her brows knit together in an amusing way as she tried not to draw too much attention now that they were inside and the halls were more crowded. "I am not _dating_ you, and you have no right to say whether or not I date anyone!"

"Do you honestly think any other wizard would go near you now that I've made my interest clear?" Tom asked as they came to a halt outside the classroom, passing her bag to her and drawing a single finger quickly down her cheek before she could slap his hand away.

"You're an insufferable, arrogant, arse!" Hermione hissed, her cheeks flaming hot from the stares of her classmates.

"See you later, pet," he said with a small smile, then turned and walked away. That went well…and she was now on notice that if she attempted to date anyone, he would instantly become a target of Tom's less than friendly interest. Excellent.

* * *

"Professor Beery?"

Hermione poked her head around the door of Greenhouse 5, hoping that her Head of House was within hearing range. As far as she knew, there were no Mandrakes in this greenhouse, but she kept her voice low just in case.

"One moment!" The gruff voice came from the back of the greenhouse, and Hermione just stepped inside the door to get out of the sleet and wind. She was careful, though, not to venture further…although this greenhouse had not harbored any truly dangerous specimens in her day, she had no idea how Professor Beery chose to catalogue the specimens in his time. It was always best to approach the greenhouses with a healthy degree of caution.

"Ah, Miss Girard," Professor Beery said, taking a dragonhide apron and gloves off. "What can I do for you?"

Hermione wasn't quite sure, actually. She only knew that after Tom Riddle had talked to her again by the lake, she was running out of options for evading him as long as Dumbledore was away. Desperation had driven her to the idea that perhaps her Head of House could offer some form of refuge, an alternative to just waiting for him to come up with his next insidious excuse to get her alone and do whatever he fancied.

"It's…it's about a boy, Professor. There's a boy who has…expressed an interest in me, and I'm afraid I can't return his interest. I don't think he's getting the message."

Professor Beery's brow creased, his fuzzy eyebrows drawing together slightly as he looked at her quizzically. "I see. And would this boy be our Head Boy, Mr. Riddle?"

Hermione's eyes met the professor's squarely. "It would."

"Ah." The professor peered out into the dark behind her, his attention seemingly grabbed momentarily before he returned his gaze to Hermione. He turned back to the rack holding his gloves and apron, and gestured toward the other aprons and pairs of gloves. "Best put those on. Come with me."

Hermione followed his instructions, aware that this had nothing whatsoever to do with her question, but equally certain that the perspicacious Professor Beery had a purpose behind the odd request. When she was attired as he deemed necessary, the professor shut the greenhouse door firmly with a wave of his hand and led the way back down the paths of the greenhouse, Hermione following behind.

"Mind the thorns," the professor warned, grabbing a waving stem of a pale green plant with long, white thorns all over its stem and leaves. "And stay away from those paddle-like leaves."

"Right," Hermione said. "What do I need to do?"

"Pick the flowers," the professor said grimly, avoiding a particularly gruesome thorn as he deftly removed three white blooms in succession.

"Okay," Hermione said, and stepped up to the plant next to the professor. After a few minutes she recognized a pattern to the plant's movements, and then it was a bit easier to collect the flowers. Clearly this was what her Head of House had been waiting for, because he nodded his head in approval and cleared his throat.

"Now, tell me what it is about Mr. Riddle that bothers you."

Hermione darted a glance at him and returned her attention to the plant in front of her, pinching off a blossom before she spoke. "He seems a bit dark, frankly. And he's the most arrogant boy I've ever met in my life."

Professor Beery nodded. "And?"

The professor's attention was firmly fixed on his plants, but Hermione was finding it difficult to concentrate on the plant's attempts to swat her hands as she thought about what else she could say about Tom Riddle. Finally she settled on her answer.

"He scares me. He's terribly intense."

Hermione thought she heard a sigh from the man, but couldn't be sure because he stepped back swiftly from the plants and moved back down the path a bit, giving the plants their space. Hermione followed out of habit, and the professor nodded toward her gloves as he took off his own. Then he turned his attention back to his student.

"Hermione, I believe you didn't know your relative very well before arriving here at Hogwarts, and I am equally certain that his opinions of young Master Riddle have not escaped your notice." He paused and Hermione nodded her acknowledgement of this fact, and the professor nodded curtly in return.

"I have the highest respect for Albus Dumbledore, and there's something to the Muggle expression, 'where there's smoke, there's fire.' That having been said, Mr. Riddle is extremely gifted, as you are well aware. Equally, he has never paid much attention to girls in his time here at Hogwarts. Therefore, I think it wise of you not to take this attention lightly, whether you wish for its continuance or not."

"Given that I'm not…_interested_ in Tom Riddle, what can I do? I don't think any other boys would dare approach me." To be honest, Hermione didn't want any other boy's attention, either, but it seemed the safest tack to take with Professor Beery. The professor started walking again very slowly, then stopped and turned back to gesture to the plants they had been tending.

"Do you know what that plant is, Hermione?"

She found her professor's stare intense but frank, and Hermione shook her head. Herbology had never been a favorite subject of hers, although she did well enough in it.

"I'm afraid not, Professor. I've not seen it before."

Professor Beery's gaze swung back to the plant in question. "It's a magical variant of _Mala Mujer_—"Bad Woman". Related to _Euphorbium_…poisonous sap, but quite useful in some potions, as are the blossoms. Even the thorns can be useful in certain salves. Now, looking at this plant, and certainly having an intimate encounter with it, you wouldn't think there was anything good about it, would you?"

Hermione squirmed a bit, aware of where the professor was going. He continued, "Allow me to demonstrate why some of my colleagues think I'm mad to keep these plants."

Professor Beery withdrew two mice from a cage nearby and set them near the closest plant. Hermione watched the mice cautiously sniff the air, and Professor Beery whispered, "The nectar is absolutely gorgeous, if you can get it to it."

One of the mice was cautiously making its way up the stem, adroitly dodging the larger thorns and creeping slowly but steadily up toward the flowers. The other was sniffing cautiously around the base, but hadn't tried to climb the plant. With a sudden viciousness that caused Hermione to jump, one of the paddle like leaves of the plant swiped with deadly accuracy and impaled the mouse that had been trying to climb the plant, killing it swiftly. The mouse at the base skittered briefly, but then its nose led it back to a particular spot, which it began to lick and then nibble. Amazingly, the plant's thorns drooped quite suddenly, and then the mouse ran, lightening quick, up the plant and nibbled a small hole in the base of one of the remaining flowers, enjoying the sweet nectar. It then ran back down again before the plant woke up.

"Enough of that for you," Professor Beery scolded the little mouse, stunning it with his wand and dropping it back into the cage before he released the spell. He turned to Hermione with a thoughtful expression on his face. "As you see, sometimes, if you take the time to learn about even the most prickly of creatures, you learn to find something good."

Hermione felt a bit deflated after this little demonstration, and was feeling quite alone again as she dutifully put away the gloves and apron at the door and let the professor escort her back to the castle. They were passing through the entrance hall, Professor Beery throwing a curious look at her, before he spoke again.

"I occasionally have need of an assistant in tasks such as those in the greenhouses. If you are feeling overwhelmed with the attentions of a certain boy, perhaps that might be a good way to use up some of your free time, especially while your cousin is traveling on urgent business?"

Hermione did feel better with that offer, and smiled thankfully at her Head of House. "Thank you Professor. I would like that very much indeed."


	9. Partners

**I'm going to try using PMs for review replies if that's all right with you. Let's get to it-if you like it, leave a review please. Thanks!**

* * *

"We are now nearing the point in the term where we will begin some longer term brewing," Professor Slughorn said, looking fondly at his best students at the top table. "Of course, I expect you to complete other potions in the interim as well, but a few of these longer term potions will require you to work with a partner."

Hermione forcibly restrained an audible groan from passing her lips. After the disaster that was the partners assignment in DADA, Hermione had little hope of evading the dark menace currently seated next to her in the Potions classroom.

"I've taken the liberty of pairing you up according to capabilities…" Professor Slughorn said, with a sly wink to Tom, "…as some of the projects are more challenging, and require additional work outside of class time! I expect you all," Slughorn surveyed the entire classroom, taking in all of his students, "to do your best. Now, the partners…"

Hermione refused to look to her left, instead focusing her attention on the rest of their table mates. Phineas would be an excellent partner, but Slughorn would probably break up housemates. Abraxas was such a prat, Evan would be fine, Granthus Gibbon was inept but she could manage…Hermione was pulled from her wildly wishful thinking as the number of remaining classmates dwindled by the minute Finally she heard her name being called by Professor Slughorn.

"Ah, Miss Girard! Yes, I have paired you with Mr. Riddle," Slughorn said as he stopped by the two of them and laid a hand on each of their shoulders. "Convenient, eh? Well, I am quite looking forward to the potions you two will prepare! Where does that leave us? Oh yes, Mr. Gibbon…"

Hermione drowned out the few remaining pairs, aware that again, Tom Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort, had outmaneuvered her.

"Between this class and Defense Against the Dark Arts, I imagine we will be spending a lot of time together, Hermione," Tom said innocently, unpacking his potions supplies with an indolent flick of his wand as he watched her.

"Don't think I don't know that you had something to do with this," she whispered to him, not even bothering to look at him as she set her stirring rod and silver knife on the table. "I don't know what you think you're accomplishing, but I won't spend a single second longer than necessary in your company."

"That will do nicely," he whispered in her ear, first brushing her hair away from it in a gesture that doubtless the rest of the class interpreted as affectionate. "For now."

"Now!" Slughorn clapped his hands at the front of the classroom, and Tom let his hand fall from Hermione's shoulder and paid attention to the professor. It had been easy to lead Slughorn toward Hermione as his potions partner for the rest of the year, but it remained to be seen if he had taken Tom's suggestion for their first joint project.

"The scrolls on your desks will tell you which potion you will be working on for your first joint project! Today will be spent doing research, and Friday will be a library session. All of these potions have multiple recipes, and it will be your task to sort out the best one to accomplish the highest effect. If you decide to combine recipes, you must receive my approval for it before beginning to brew. Today use your texts as references and decide how you would like to split the work. Begin!"

Tom unrolled their scroll to reveal the name of the first potion they had to make: Angel's Trumpet.

"No one knows what this potion does," Hermione protested, but Tom only looked at her.

"Surely you don't think that Professor Slughorn would assign an unknown potion. Of course he knows what it does."

"I suppose you're going to tell me next that you know as well," Hermione scoffed, clearly skeptical.

"As a matter of fact, I do." Tom raised his hand and Professor Slughorn came over.

"Yes, Tom?"

"Professor, I wonder if Miss Girard and I may be excused to finish this period in the library. As you know, our potion is not in any of the texts, and Miss Girard is curious as to what it does."

"Oh ho, a potion you don't know Miss Girard? Well, I see I have chosen well for your first assignment! Yes, of course that will be fine. You are excused to the library, Mr. Riddle and Miss Girard! Here is your pass," Professor Slughorn said, flicking his wand toward his desk such that a paper zoomed to Tom.

"Thank you sir," Tom said politely, and Hermione did the same, although she cast a mulish look at Tom as she packed her bag. She caught Phineas' eye as she headed out, but he looked away again quickly when Tom looked at him pointedly.

"You don't have to intimidate my friends," she said with annoyance once the door shut behind them.

"But it's so easy to do," Tom replied smoothly, his own book bag hanging from his shoulder. He looked like such a stereotypical teenager, it was dreadful to think of all the vile evil hiding inside him already, and what he would do in the future.

"Why do you enjoy intimidating people?" Hermione asked him before she could stop herself as they walked along.

Tom looked at her sideways. "What a curious question."

"You're a curious person. You seem polite on the surface, but anyone who gets to know you realizes that is a façade."

Tom held the door to the library open for Hermione, then gave their pass to the librarian, Mr. Ziebler. "You seem to think you know a lot about me," Tom said as he led her back to the Potions section of the library, holding out her chair for her.

"Tell me I'm wrong, then. Point to one person who isn't intimidated by you," Hermione challenged, an expectant look on her face. Tom slid into the seat next to her, far closer than she would like, and propped his head up on his hand, looking at her.

"Ever looked in a mirror?" he asked, and Hermione ducked her head. _Shit_.

"You're wrong about that," she muttered softly, but he caught it.

"So you admit you find me intimidating?" Tom asked, enjoying playing with her. She was entertaining with her bravado, but again he knew this hinted at his future. She _was_ thoroughly afraid of him then. So much the better.

"I'm going to get some books on potions," she said, deciding that the best course of action was to ignore him.

"Don't bother," Tom said, his wand at his fingertips easily. "Accio 'Philtres & Potions Most Potente'."

"How do you know there isn't another book with more information on the potion?" Hermione asked, exasperated.

"This is the best one," Tom said confidently as the tome landed on the table when he deftly turned his wand before it touched his hand.

"You're so arrogant," Hermione said, then stood to go look through the stacks herself. Tom stopped her with a light touch on her wrist, and she looked down at him ready to tell him off for touching her again.

"I have reason to be," he said, daring her to continue arguing with him. "I've been a student at this school for seven years. Do you think I don't know every inch of this library, every book in it? You may be a bookworm, Miss Girard, but I devour books."

"You don't know everything, Tom Riddle," Hermione retorted, but she sat back down.

"Of that I am well aware. I'm sure there are many things you know which I do not…yet," Tom said, his eyes pinning hers in manner that made her decidedly uncomfortable. Did he mean what she thought he might? She cursed him and his Obliviate—if only she knew what he had found out!

Tom's eyes narrowed in amusement as he saw the flash of fire in her eyes before she turned away from him in a huff and opened the book, wordlessly and wandlessly summoning ink and parchment from her bag to take notes. That was impressive, and so habitual he doubted she even noticed it anymore. More and more lovely surprises, all in a petite, tasteful package. The more he thought about it, the more he was inclined to claim her in all senses. He summoned the blood magic book from his own bag. He suspected that what he sought lay within its pages. Books weren't drawn to individuals for nothing. He could feel his magic building in anticipation of tasting hers, intertwining with it, corrupting it. He just had to find the right ritual.

"This says that older versions of the potion were more potent, but had 'deleterious effects' on the atmosphere. What do they mean by that?"

Tom lifted his head from his book. "There were certain effects on the weather patterns that were undesirable."

Hermione fixed him with a look. "Do you know where the older versions are?"

Tom sat back in his chair to look at her. "They were in some books in the Restricted section, but they were Dark books. Surely _you_ don't intend to look at Dark texts, Hermione?"

There was undeniably a note of challenge in his tone, and Hermione raised an eyebrow. "As a matter of fact, I have read so-called 'Dark' texts before, if you'll recall. If you think you're going to put me off researching them just because you happen to believe this is the best version of the potion, you are mistaken. I am not going to do what you tell me to do. I prefer to think for myself."

Tom raised his eyebrow arrogantly at that. "That's only if you find them."

"I don't require your assistance to find information," Hermione replied frostily, then rose from the chair to speak to the librarian. Tom watched her wend her way through the tables and speak to Mr. Ziebler for a few minutes, then pass by him on her way to the Restricted section. She didn't even glance in his direction. Smothering a chuckle, Tom returned his attention to his book. A half hour later, she returned to the table and set down two thick tomes.

"You're missing one," Tom commented idly after ten minutes had passed. Hermione had found the relevant section of the first book and was copying the information, making notes in neat, indented sections as she went.

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione said, raising her head to look at him pointedly. Tom, of course, ignored her glare, and flipped to the next page in his book.

"There are three texts with references to the Angel's Trumpet. I thought you'd like to know."

"For your information, Riddle, I discarded the third text, because it recommended mixing infusion of wormwood with newt skin, a combination that is violently unstable. Furthermore, it required virgin's blood and other unsavory ingredients, which, as you are well aware, Slughorn would not let us use, let alone the difficulties of obtaining them," she said primly, turning her attention halfway through her recitation back to her notes. If he was going to nonchalantly ignore her, she would give him the same treatment.

A corner of Tom's mouth lifted slightly. "That problem was corrected in Ilstori's version. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll get there eventually. Or, you could just take my word for it when I say that the version I selected is the best one."

Hermione snapped the page of the text she was working from rather pointedly, then looked up to fix him with a determined look. "I appreciate that you are…" she paused to let him deduce the word she'd use if she weren't polite, "…_confident_ enough to believe your answer to be the best, but _I_ will get the same grade, and _I_ prefer to do my own work. And, I assure you, if I disagree with you, I won't hesitate to tell you so."

"I have no intentions of amending the potion," Tom said calmly, closing the blood magic book and fixing his attention on her, "And it is a waste of your time to expect I will do so, Hermione."

"Well in case you hadn't noticed, _Tom_, this is a _partners_ assignment, and we are expected to work _together_ and _agree_ on what we do."

Tom leaned forward casually, his eyebrow coolly arching upward. "And what _we_ will do is what _I _say. I am the better potion maker."

Hermione snapped the book shut so loudly that a few heads turned their way and Mr. Ziebler frowned and shhhed them from his desk. "I am going to talk to Professor Slughorn. If you aren't prepared to take my opinion seriously, I refuse to work with you."

Tom was going to let her storm off in her little snit, perfectly secure in the knowledge that Slughorn wouldn't disrupt the partners assignments. However, Herecles Potter glided by at that precise moment, and one look at Hermione's stormy countenance had the boy pulling out a chair across the table from Hermione and twirling it around so he could fling himself astride it.

"What's wrong Hermione? I thought you had Potions now."

"Actually, we are working on the partners Potions project together," Tom interjected coolly, sliding his book and his hands off the table. No need to give the Gryffindor prat a chance to be nosey about his choice of reading material.

"_Actually_, I was working on the project, but the Head Boy apparently has already decided which version he wants to make. I was just leaving to speak to Professor Slughorn, as I prefer a partner who will actually listen to me." She stood quickly and flicked her notes and ink into her bag, the books assembling themselves into a pile to be returned to Mr. Ziebler.

"If you were my partner on a project, I'd listen to you all day," Herecles said gallantly, and a faint hint of color crept across Hermione's cheekbones. Tom noticed.

"If you prefer to speak with Professor Slughorn about the versions of the potion, of course we can do that," Tom said neutrally, although his eyes flashed with a hint of something briefly. He stood as well and picked up his bag, the blood magic book sliding inside under the flap in a practiced move. "He will likely agree with me, but you are welcome to ask him."

"I'd prefer a different partner," Hermione said tightly, and Tom glanced at the Gryffindor Seeker, who was highly amused by their bickering.

"I think you'll find that he will not disrupt the existing partners assignments," Tom said, and Hermione flicked her hair to the side.

"We'll see about that."

She stalked off without another word, leaving Tom to follow and try to catch up with her. As he walked away, he heard Herecles Potter say to his teammate George, "Well, it's good to see that the most swooned after bloke in the school can't actually have everything he wants."

Tom's fist tightened minutely as he navigated through the crowded corridors. _We'll see about that_, _indeed._

* * *

"Hermione, I'd like for you to stay after class, please."

Hermione nodded, but internally she sighed in relief. They had all been surprised to see Professor Dumbledore at the breakfast table this morning, and Hermione had planned to ask him for an appointment after class. The rest of her housemates shuffled out in the usual cacophony of chatter, the Slytherins passing by in twos and threes, all save Tom Riddle, who stopped briefly at Hermione's desk on his way past.

"Will you still come to library after? Slughorn expects that joint essay by Friday." His tone was as cool and collected as usual, and Hermione could discern no hint of fear in him about what she might discuss with Dumbledore. Either he was supremely confident that he had left absolutely no traces of his work, or he was extremely good at bluffing. She didn't know which, and it was useless to speculate. She replied politely,

"Assuming I am through before dinner, yes."

He nodded and left the classroom swiftly, the echo of the closing door resounding in the empty classroom.

"Perhaps it would be best if we had our chat in my office, Hermione," Dumbledore said, opening the door at the side which opened onto his office. Hermione stepped through, and this time was treated to a closer look at the magical instruments which the professor found so necessary. They appeared to be odd combinations of Muggle microscopes and astrolabes, along with other bits that she couldn't identify.

"Tea?"

The professor turned toward her with a swirl of his peacock blue robes from the spirit kettle on a table, and Hermione shook her head.

"No thank you, sir."

Curtly nodding his head, Dumbledore helped himself to a cup of tea with enough sugar to rot anyone's teeth, then took his seat behind his desk and began to speak after he took the first sip of his tea.

"I imagine that you are wondering why I have asked to speak with you. Well, Hermione, I have made a few delicate enquiries regarding your situation, and I wanted to brief you of the results."

He was studying her closely, and Hermione found herself suddenly nervous. What was he thinking about? "Of course, sir. I want to know anything you have found."

Dumbledore sighed and sat back in his chair. "I am afraid that these are delicate times, Hermione. Merely asking a few guarded questions about the topic of time travel made a few of my acquaintances very uneasy. One in particular was vehement about the Ministry's strong policy of automatic imprisonment in Azkaban for those foolish enough to mess with time. Nonetheless, I did procure a very rare book, as well as a few theory papers which might be helpful. As I am able, I plan to study them to investigate the potential avenue that was used to send you here."

The mention of imprisonment made Hermione very nervous. She understood the desire to preserve the timeline, but punishing the time traveler was a rather extreme attempt to do so. She spoke up quickly.

"I could help you with that, Professor. I am an excellent researcher, and no one has more of a vested interest in returning to my own time than myself. I would be happy to help if you would allow me to do so."

Dumbledore took another long sip of his tea and set the cup down abruptly on its saucer. "Professor Beery tells me that you are still troubled by the attentions of Tom Riddle."

Here was the chance she had sought to tell him what she suspected had happened after the hexing incident. Hermione sat forward and began, "Professor, I think you need to understand something about Tom Riddle—"

Dumbledore cut her off quickly and sat forward in his chair. "Miss Girard, whatever it is you were about to say, I must urge you again to resist the temptation to inform me of anything concerning my future, or Tom's, or, indeed, any other soul you may come across during your time here at Hogwarts. If nothing else, my few discussions and brief research has shown that it is absolutely** imperative** that you keep such information to yourself. It is precisely this sort of threat which the Ministry of Magic would seek to contain with their short-sighted imprisonment policy. No matter what effect you may feel you have by being here, I urge you to consider how much further it would spread if, by trying unwittingly to minimize the damage you may suppose yourself to do, you cause much larger ripples that have consequences far greater than we can foresee."

Hermione felt again that cold frisson of fear. This was the sternest warning yet which he had given her about not interfering. Could she trust him to not report it, if in fact Tom Riddle had somehow gained access to some of her memories? What domino effect would that cause? Obliviation for Tom, and Azkaban for herself? She couldn't take the risk.

"Professor, it's just that Tom Riddle is now my partner in two classes, and I find him to be rather intense. I would prefer different partners."

Professor Dumbledore's glance was one of sympathy, and she knew immediately that he would do nothing to intervene on her behalf.

"While I understand your concerns, it has also been brought to my attention by the two professors in question that you are one of the few of his peers who is willing to stand up to him. I believe this may be a very good experience for Mr. Riddle, and for yourself as well. Sometimes we have to learn to tolerate those whom we do not like."

Hermione nodded, a pragmatic expression on her face. Inside she despaired slightly. She was caught between a rock and a hard place with her knowledge of future events and Professor Dumbledore's dire warnings about her situation at present. "Yes, sir. I understand what you mean."

"Good." Professor Dumbledore stood, and Hermione rose as well, since she was clearly being dismissed. She hadn't missed that he had ignored her request to help with the time travel research, and so, before she went, she asked, "Sir? What other reason were you traveling?"

"Ah, well, I suppose I should have informed you, as my 'relative'. I was presenting a paper to the International Federation for Transfiguration, Magical Theory, and Spell Creation on the twelve uses of dragon's blood."

Hermione let a small smile creep onto her mouth. "That is excellent, Professor. And when will this paper be published?"

"In next quarter's edition of their journal," he replied affably.

"Well, sir, I believe I won't affect things _too_ much by saying, it is an excellent paper," Hermione said. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in response.

"Thank you, my dear. I shall give you a copy—perhaps it would be of use in one of your classes."

Hermione accepted the paper that he flicked toward her, and nodded. "I believe I have just the thing for it, sir."

As she left, she hoped her gesture of goodwill would be received as such by the professor. If he began to suspect her of anything untoward due to her being out of place and time, well...she would truly lose her only powerful ally, and then what would she do?

* * *

Two days later, Herecles finally found his quarry alone in the courtyard.

"So, am I wrong in saying you don't appreciate Tom Riddle's attentions, or did I miss something?"

Hermione shrieked slightly as Herecles slid into the alcove next to her in the courtyard, then said, "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry, Seeker reflexes," he said with a grin that indicated he wasn't sorry at all. "It didn't seem like you and your Potions partner were getting along too well in the library the other day. I don't suppose you got out of that?"

"No," Hermione replied, flipping a page in the book in a clear hint that she wanted to be left alone. Herecles either didn't pick up on it, or chose to ignore it, because he remained perched beside her.

"I hear you got paired with him in DADA too. You must have a pretty fast wand."

"Tolerably so," Hermione said tightly. She had no intention of discussing her skills with anyone after her conversation with Professor Dumbledore yesterday. Herecles finally picked up on her hint to change the subject, and affably moved on.

"So, who are you going with to Sluggy's party tomorrow night?"

Hermione put her book down and looked levelly at him. "Phineas Longbottom. We're just friends."

"Oh? Well no offense, but he doesn't seem the type to stand up to Riddle for you, if that is what you were looking for in an escort."

Hermione snapped the next page in her book without seeing it and took a deep breath. Herecles was awfully perceptive when he wanted to be, like another Potter she knew.

"Why do you care?" Hermione asked, the way Herecles' hair was uncontrollably ruffled reminding her terribly of Harry.

"I don't like seeing people being bullied, and that's what he's doing to you, isn't it? So I can run interference for you. If you like." He was serious, she could tell; that Gryffindor brashness and bravery mixing in an appealing way.

"I would never forgive myself if something bad happened to you because of me," Hermione said, and meant it. She didn't know if he was Harry's grandfather, but the possibility that he may be meant she had to do everything in her power to keep him out of Tom Riddle's way.

"If he doesn't pick on you, an innocent girl, then there won't be a problem," Herecles said, crossing his arms over his chest in a mulishly male manner.

"I can handle him," Hermione said. "Besides, he already knows I'm going with Phineas, and he's fine with it." She turned her head back to her book to hide the little lie, and glanced up to see his skeptical expression.

"Sure he is. Because he's known to be such a sharing, caring soul."

"Why do you want to provoke him? Do you have a death wish?" Hermione asked, closing her book for good.

"He's a Slytherin, and a creep. What more reason do I need?" Herecles shrugged and Hermione felt a flash of anger at his boyish _stupidity_. Why were adolescent men so convinced of their own immortality?

"I can take care of myself," she said, jumping down from the stone ledge. "Don't worry about my problems, just stay away from Tom Riddle and his lackeys if you know what's good for you."

Herecles watched her stalk off, thoughtful. Something was going on with Riddle and Hermione, and he was going to figure out what it was. She was too nice to be devoured by that soulless bastard. An idea occurred to him and he jumped off the ledge as well. He had to find Augusta Donaghy.


	10. A Push

**A Thanksgiving present for my American readers. Relatela, thanks for the review! Hogwarts Headgirl, glad you liked it. And the guest with the history bent, yes, it was a historical reference. Thanks to JKR for all the original work, I merely play here. One further thing: this chapter and the next are sort of twinned, but still tweaking the next one. Hopefully I will get that up tomorrow or Saturday. The chapter titles are a hint, hehe. Enjoy!**

"I think that will do," Hermione said, pulling on a finely knit grey cardigan over her white blouse. The navy skirt was sufficient for Slughorn's supper party, and she rolled her eyes when Sophie pursed her lips and offered a matching headband with grey roses on it, while Olivia pinned a small circlet brooch in silver to her sweater.

"Much better," Sophie said when Hermione put the headband in her hair impatiently. "You don't want to look plain."

"I want to look like myself," Hermione retorted, wordlessly blocking Olivia's attempt to transfigure her Mary Jane heels higher. "Enough."

"Oh fine, have it your way," her roommate sighed, then looked at Sophie as Hermione left the room. "What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall in that room when Tom sees her."

"I'm more interested in being a fly on the wall in the hall when he gets her alone," Sophie snarked.

* * *

Hermione found Phineas waiting nervously in the common room, sporting a nicely cut set of dress robes. "Shall we?" she said politely, and took Phineas' arm as he moved them toward the exit of the common room.

"Yes, about that, Hermione…" he trailed off rather helplessly when Hermione caught sight of Herecles Potter lounging against the wall opposite their common room, dressed very spiffily in his own dress robes.

"Phineas…" Hermione began warningly, turning on her housemate who removed his arm quickly from hers and pushed her toward Potter.

"I'd better go get my date," he squeaked as Herecles said, "Yes, Phineas, Augusta is waiting, and you know how she hates to be kept waiting."

Hermione watched her cowardly friend hurry off toward the Gryffindor tower and turned her attention back to Herecles, who looked pleased with himself.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed, and he grinned.

"I'm helping you, Hermione. Don't worry, I don't consider _this_ a date…I'm still getting to know you, after all, and I was invited in my own right."

"I'll go by myself," Hermione said, and walked by him at a good clip. He caught up with her and stuffed his hands in his pockets, saying good naturedly, "You don't mind if I walk with you, do you? We're going to the same place after all."

She stopped, exasperated, and whirled to face him. "What part of this situation do you not understand? Tom Riddle will hex you into oblivion, _literally_, if he even thinks you are interested in me. Which, you just admitted you are not; so why set yourself up for another trip to the infirmary in the best case scenario?"

"I didn't say that," Herecles said slowly, his blue eyes earnestly appraising. "However, it looks to me like to start, you could use a real friend, one who is actually willing to stand beside you no matter what. Or do you honestly think you can handle Tom Riddle alone?"

His words were such an echo of what she herself had said to Harry what felt like ages ago that Hermione almost cried. Instead she laughed, a mirthless laugh born of frustration and anxiety. She looked at him again and sighed. She couldn't make him understand, so the best option was to try to keep things on an even keel.

"Fine. But please, if he gets angry, let me deal with him."

"No promises," Herecles said, pulling her arm through his firmly. "Let's go make the wrong impression."

"You do have a death wish," Hermione muttered, but she didn't try to take her arm away from him.

* * *

To say that Tom was displeased when Hermione showed up on the arm of Herecles Potter would be a cool understatement. He masked it easily enough, but the few times Hermione had glanced at him had been enough to know that she was well aware of his feelings about the matter. He would talk with her before she left. Herecles, however, was another matter. He caught Abraxas' eye and was satisfied that his servant knew just what had caught his attention.

Casually during the pre-dinner aperitifs, Abraxas left his date chatting with some other girls and stopped briefly at Tom's side.

"Tonight?"

"I think not. Let Mr. Potter think he's gotten away with it," Tom said coolly, his attention fixed on Hermione, who was laughing at something Herecles had said as they chatted with Phineas and Augusta Donaghy. "He'll know differently soon enough."

Abraxas tilted his head minutely, then continued across the room to speak to Slughorn. Hermione glanced across the room at Tom again, and found he was ensconced in conversation with a Hufflepuff prefect. She turned her attention back to her friends, but couldn't shake the niggling feeling that he was taking in everything she did. She let out a relieved sigh when she was seated a good distance away from Tom Riddle at the dinner table.

On the plus side, she found Augusta Donaghy to be a curious and refreshing witch. She was in Gryffindor, and her brashness seemed to suit Phineas. It was obvious that he was secretly head over heels for her, and it seemed that Augusta didn't find him lacking either. She found it sweet, knowing they would end up married. She hoped Neville had known his grandfather, then felt sad when she realized that Phineas had died sometime before she really got to know Neville at Hogwarts. She didn't want to know how, the stark clarity of the thought of this quiet, brilliant boy meeting an early death very painful. It was hard to know things before they happened, and she was glad she wasn't a Seer.

Tom watched Hermione's appetite suddenly vanish during dinner, connecting it easily to the look she had thrown at Longbottom. Miss Girard knew about more than just himself, it seemed. That was a useful bit of information. Of course, it made sense with the other tidbits he'd chipped from her—her prior knowledge of Hogwarts, her familiarity with Dumbledore. He mentally flipped through the images he'd pulled from her mind in Hogsmeade Wood that day, fixating on the black haired boy on the path. There was a resemblance to a certain Gryffindor, perhaps. He took a sip from his goblet and easily engaged in conversation with his tablemate, some piece of fluff fifth year from Slytherin with a well-placed father in the Ministry. It was easy enough to distract her with questions about the Ministry while internally shuffling around the pieces of information, toying with it in a detached manner and waiting for his opportunity to deal with Hermione's little _faux pas_ this evening.

When supper was concluded, Slughorn vanished the table and everyone was free to serve themselves coffee or tea. The evening was drawing to a close, small groups of students conversing as Slughorn drifted between them, a happy smile on his face. Tom had worked effortlessly closer to Hermione and her date, the inestimable Mr. Potter. Finally Tom had the opening he had been looking for, slipping a small amount of a potion from his pocket in Potter's coffee with no one being the wiser. Then he turned to the professor who was chatting easily with Abraxas and smoothly cut into their conversation.

"Tell me, Professor, what you think about the proposed changes to the international Quidditch rules?"

Tom knew that Slughorn was a Quidditch fan, and this particular topic was the subject of hot debate among Potions Masters in particular, as they related to cheating and the use of potions to do so in the sport.

"Oh yes, of course! Well I'm sure Abraxas and Herecles are most interested in this, aren't you, boys? I think it's necessary to institute regulations for Quaffle skin, of course, because there are so many substances that can be tampered with…"

Hermione was left baffled as Herecles launched an impassioned debate on the subject with Abraxas Malfoy and Professor Slughorn, delving into the intricacies of Quidditch with an alacrity and clever wit that she hadn't known he possessed. She kept an eye on Tom Riddle, who contributed twice to the discussion but largely kept silent. Phineas and Augusta were across the room, and Slughorn seemed surprised when his hourglass chimed.

"Oh, that's it then," Slughorn said, sounding almost disappointed. "Time for you all to go back to your houses, I wouldn't want to be responsible for you being out past curfew!"

There was a low groan but people began to leave in small groups, and Hermione felt a small bit of unease as Tom moved easily to her side.

"But Professor, don't you think it's a bit of a stretch to assume that Girding potion would maintain its effects via skin contact alone?" Herecles asked, and Slughorn smiled at him.

"You are very keen, Herecles! I don't suppose you and Abraxas would like to continue to discuss this for a few minutes over a small dram of mead? I can give you a note to be out late in the halls…"

Abraxas indicated his agreement and Herecles responded enthusiastically, "That would be great, Professor! Now, about the skin contact…"

"I'll just escort Hermione back to her dorm then," Tom said smoothly, cutting her away from the vigorous debate before Herecles could register her shock. Hermione realized that he didn't even notice she had gone, so engaged was he in the conversation.

"What did you give him?" she asked in a low tone as Tom moved her swiftly through the door with his hand at her lower back. "And don't try to tell me you didn't engineer that little scene!"

"Of course I gave him something," Tom said in an equally low voice, smiling affably at the seventh year Gryffindor prefect as they left the room. "He's too stupid to notice. I doubt he'll even realize it tomorrow. But that is going to be the least of his concerns."

Hermione fell silent at this implied threat, walking out of the dungeons with Tom at her side as she thought what he might have given Herecles, how many potions could bring about his sudden loquaciousness. Was there a poison that caused those effects? She couldn't think of one but she wouldn't put anything past Tom Riddle. Finally she could stand it no longer.

"What have you done?" Hermione asked, her heart rate speeding up as they entered a darker corridor and Tom flicked aside a tapestry with his wand, revealing a shortcut that was bound to be deserted.

"What do _you_ think I've done?" he said as he registered that she was trying to dig in her heels about taking the shortcut. "Relax. I'm not going to hex you."

"As if I believe you," Hermione said, her wand in hand as she faced him in front of the passageway.

"I'll warn you once, Hermione. Put your wand down," Tom said softly, his fingers steady on his wand. She wasn't going to catch him off guard, but he thought now would be a good time to try a theory he had developed after reading the blood magic book.

"_Sanguinem invocabo_," he said softly, and was pleased when she stilled slightly, the momentary hesitation giving him the opportunity to cross to her in a single step and remove her wand from her hand.

Hermione couldn't describe what had happened, just that her magic had, for that split second, felt like it was _waiting_ for something. It disturbed her greatly, and she asked quickly, "What spell was that? Did you put it on me that day when you brought me back from the infirmary?"

Tom smiled. "I absolutely did not."

Hermione was shocked. She had never seen him smile before, and it made him devastatingly handsome. The realization made her even more skittish. He turned his attention to her wand. It was intricately carved, the details difficult to appreciate unless you were up close—just like her.

"You have a beautiful wand, Hermione," he said as she involuntarily took a step backward, away from him. He could feel the magic in it, slightly antagonistic, just like her. "Dragon heartstring, am I right?"

Hermione ignored the shivers from his handling of her wand, calling on its magic. She didn't want him touching her wand, wielding its magic like that.

"You said 'blood' in Latin. What do you know about my blood?" she asked instead, hoping he wasn't lying about not wanting to hex her. What exactly he did want was muddy, but she had no doubt he would soon enlighten her.

"Let's just say that it confirms a theory I have about your mysterious past," he said, walking forward and causing Hermione to move back slightly toward the passageway.

"What would you know about that?" Hermione asked defensively, aware that her best option at this point was to talk and keep moving toward her common room.

"I suspect I know more than you do about how you arrived here," Tom said, pushing her back into the passageway with a flick of his wand and ignoring her question about his spell, allowing the tapestry to fall behind him as he caused the sconces to flare so he could see her. Hermione wondered what he meant by that, and again cursed his Obliviate and the way he was playing with her. He made a show of tucking both of their wands into his pocket, holding his hands up to indicate he wasn't going to hex her.

"That's better, wouldn't you say? More…intimate for our little talk about your erstwhile date, hmm?"

"He's just a friend," Hermione said warily, continuing to move away from him stealthily. He obviously noticed, because he kept coming forward. "He's worried about me because of you."

"How touching," Tom said, far closer to her than she would like. She could smell the coffee on his breath, along with the faint scent of the soap he used. "Ironic, given that I'm worried about you because of him."

"You don't worry about anyone but yourself," Hermione said, and he placed his hands on either side of her, boxing her in against the wall.

"You presume to know me quite well, do you know that?" Tom said, his eyes locked with hers. "Shall I tell you what I know about you? You're not related to Dumbledore, but you do know him. Furthermore, you know Hogwarts quite well, almost as if you'd gone to school here at some point. And you're not a pureblood, and maybe you're not even a halfblood," he said with a sudden flash of insight.

"You're guessing," she said firmly, pretending a confidence she didn't feel even as her heart thundered like mad. "You don't know anything about me, and you keep trying to find out. But any secrets I have are mine to hold, not yours for the taking."

Tom's hand moved to her neck, cupping the back of her head and tilting it up so he could look at her. "You're so brave, and so foolish."

He paused, letting the words marinate in her brain while he privately thought, _You already belong to me, and you don't even know it_. He moved closer and whispered into her hair, his breath ghosting over the shell of her ear, "I can feel your magic thrumming under your skin…strong…powerful…but uncontrolled, skittish without your wand. You have mastered some wandless spells, but how much of your magic slips away before you can direct it? I can give you control, Hermione. All I ask for is a peek inside that mind of yours."

Internally Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. His request meant she had held out against him before, even when he did his worst. She had hoped that was the case, as it was the only thing that would explain his continued interest in her, but to hear him confirm it was a godsend. It gave her the reinforcement she needed to continue fighting him.

"My mind will always remain my own."

"I doubt that very much," he said softly, allowing his own magic to flare slightly, until he could feel her own trying to twist away from it. "There is much you don't know about magic, Hermione. No secret is safe from me forever."

Hermione squirmed, and his hand tightened his hold imperceptibly on the base of her skull, fixing her in position while his magical essence rolled off of him in waves, suffocating her with its intensity. "You see what I mean, don't you? You can feel it, crawling around you. The difference is that I have _control_ over it; control which you lack, witch."

Hermione bravely met his gaze. "If the price of such control is the loss of my soul and my emotions, then no thank you. I'd rather be a lesser witch than become a lesser person."

There was a spark of something in his eyes, but she couldn't pinpoint what it was. He leaned forward, his breath whispering against the shell of her ear in an intimacy she could not like but equally could not escape. "Are you saying I'm less human than you, Hermione? That I don't feel things the same way you feel them? Because if that is your assumption, you're going to find out very quickly how very wrong you are."

There was an uncomfortable tension between them, nearly palpable, as Hermione pushed back with her magic against the oppressive force of his. Neither of them moved, their bodies not touching by only the slightest degree as their magics thickened the air around them. Tom smiled slightly against her neck…he had her now. He allowed some of his emotions to suffuse through his magic, heard the sharp hiss of Hermione's indrawn breath as she felt the difference permeating along every surface where the core of her magical self was pushing against his own.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was low, almost guttural, and she instinctively turned her head toward him, her breath hitting his ear in an equally intimate manner, his magic laced with seductive, alluring notes that made her want to reach out to him. She resisted, strongly, her magic fighting with her.

"You see what I mean, don't you, Hermione? Your instincts know what to do. What other wizard of your acquaintance really _knows_ what this is like?" He raised his head to look at her, and for a brief second, Hermione thought he was going to kiss her, his eyes darting down briefly before returning to lock with hers. At that moment, she didn't know if she would have refused it. The moment was gone before she could think about that, her eyes unconsciously dropping to his full lips for a split second as he continued to speak.

"But let us focus on the problem at hand: your supposed knight in shining armor is now firmly being shepherded by my housemate. Whatever could go wrong, I wonder? Abraxas is not a babysitter, and Mr. Potter is so clumsy…wouldn't it be terrible if another _accident_ befell Mr. Potter? Perhaps one that he won't recover from?"

He felt her magic flare in response to that, her emotions not under as good a regulation as she pretended. _So she does know something about that boy_, he thought, his face a careful blank as he watched her contemplate if he dared, her eyes scanning his own for any hint of what he would do.

"How do I know that you really have Herecles?" Hermione said quickly, trying to give herself time to _think_.

Tom pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I wasn't aware you held a life so cheaply—but I suppose he _is_ a Gryffindor, and they are rather useless all things considered…"

"What do you want?" Her voice was quiet; and the sweet sense of triumph that suffused Tom was heady.

"Something simple for today, I think," he said, tilting his head to the side. "I want to see your memory of the first time you heard my name."

Hermione's mind processed the implications of what he was asking, reviewing the memories as she tried to stall for time. She hadn't let him know that she knew he was Lord Voldemort, but she _did_ know that, so would she have to show him that memory, or the first time she'd heard the name Tom Riddle? She wasn't sure which her brain would bring forth.

"You are a heartless bastard," she whispered, looking away from him. He drew his hand to the front of her throat, his fingers resting briefly on her pulse before they drifted to her collarbone.

"No, Hermione, I assure you, my parents were married." His voice was hard, expectant, and Hermione swallowed, then met his eyes again.

"Legilimens," he breathed softly, his left hand clasping his wand in his pocket.

As she expected, he was ready to pounce on her mind, and she had prepared herself, pushing forward her memory of hearing Tom Riddle's name for the first time. The other was a bit more vague, but she knew she had read it in a book before starting at Hogwarts. Hermione felt him in her memory, watching silently as she looked in a display case, his name on a trophy for Special Services to Hogwarts. He felt her close off, ruthlessly tried to skip on to the next memory without any notice of the expression of pain that flitted across her face. She was talking to the black haired boy again, and the ginger boy.

_"Harry," she said, "Who does that belong to?"_

Hermione was there, pushing him out, disrupting the trail of memories connected to that thought, to his name. She didn't know what he saw, if he saw anything connected to the Chamber, or the diary itself—her mind blurred from the pain of fighting him, but he had clearly decided to be done. He pulled out of her mind with a speed that had her crying out in pain, and he reflexively caught her before her knees gave out. He stood there, thinking, as Hermione tried to curtail the pain in her head and figure out how to get her wand back from him.

"I want to leave," Hermione said, and Tom snapped his head around to look at her. "Please."

"I need to think about this," he said, and Hermione knew it was more of a promise than a statement. She had to get away from him before he demanded more from her. Panic rose in her breast and she began to breathe more and more shallowly, which caught Tom's attention. She could feel him staring at her, and she felt even more vulnerable. She needed to get away!

Tom's response was the exact opposite of what she wanted. He pressed himself completely against her, bringing both forearms against the wall on either side of her arms, effectively pinning her to the wall. "Calm yourself."

His tone was so relaxed, and again Hermione felt that insistent, seductive pull of his magic. Despite the pain in her head, she gritted out, "You won't seduce me with your magic, Tom. I still don't trust you."

"Trust is for fools," he said placidly, "But I will tell you this: I promise you that I won't hurt you, now or in the future."

Hermione gave a little laugh at that, which unfortunately deteriorated into a moan of pain that she bit back as soon as it began. She would not show more weakness to him. "You've already hurt me, just now."

"No, you hurt yourself. That wouldn't have happened if you had shown me the truth," he retorted.

"I won't argue with you further. My wand, please," she said, feeling absolutely pathetic because she had to ask for it back. He must have read her mindset correctly, because he flipped it into her palm without a word, then helped her through the passageway with every appearance of a gentleman.

"What about Herecles?" Hermione asked, breathless from the pace he set, as well as the throbbing pain in her head.

"He will be at breakfast tomorrow," Tom said, taking in the expression of pain on her face at last. "Be thankful it's only a headache, Hermione—and it wouldn't have happened if you had kept to your side of our agreement. Remember that."

"I don't need reminders of your ruthlessness," Hermione retorted in irritation, and Tom clasped her face in his hand, his thumb idly tracing her lips.

"Don't you?" he asked, looking up from her lips at last to meet her gaze. "You will be my date for Slughorn's Christmas party next month. Make sure your…_friends_ understand that, or I'll do it for you."

"You could _ask_ me, instead of commanding me! It might produce better results," Hermione said, desperate to claw back ground that she somehow felt she'd lost.

"That would give you the illusion of choice—and while I enjoy a good illusion, I have none where you are concerned." With that ominous pronouncement, he let his hand fall and walked away.


	11. Pushback

**Good evening! Hope everyone had a great weekend. Here is the 'twinned' chapter...hope you enjoy it! Thank you to the all the new followers & reviewers! Do let me know what you think of this. :)**

* * *

"Now, Tom and Hermione, I understand that you have some disagreement as to which version of the Angel's Trumpet that you believe will be best," Professor Slughorn said, peering at them over the top of his glasses.

"No, I believe we—" Tom began, but Hermione interrupted him, "Yes, that's right Professor. I'm afraid we can't reach a consensus, and we need you to look at both recipes and settle our disagreement for us."

"Ah," Professor Slughorn said, throwing glances at both of them before beginning to look at their separate notes. Hermione threw a small charm disguising their handwriting at the sheaf of parchment and blatantly ignored the narrowing of Tom's eyes, the only visible sign of his irritation when their classmates were shamelessly eavesdropping on the conversation. She had held her head high through the gossip surrounding them leaving Slughorn's supper together, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief when she spotted Herecles eating breakfast as usual at the Gryffindor table. She had then spent all of Sunday sequestered in the Ravenclaw common room lest she run into Tom. It was petty, but she had needed time to consider everything that they had danced around during their little tête à tête. She had concluded that she was _not_ attracted to Tom Riddle, it was merely that he was so clever with his magic. She would admit to being slightly envious of _that_, but it was nothing more than that.

"Hmmm…" the professor said as he perused one set of notes, then turned his attention to the other. "Oh, well, that could be very interesting! Well, well!"

Tom cocked his head expectantly as Professor Slughorn looked at the pair of them again, obviously pleased.

"Well, I knew you would be a formidable pair, but this is exquisite potions theory! Tell me, Miss Girard, has a little bird whispered in your ear about your cousin's work with dragon's blood?"

Hermione threw a thinly disguised triumphant expression at Tom before looking back to Professor Slughorn. "Indeed, sir, I was able to read an early copy."

"I see! And did you discuss this idea with Professor Dumbledore?" Professor Slughorn queried, leaning forward and giving her the type of stern look he reserved for ferreting out any possible cheating.

"No sir, I haven't had the opportunity. I haven't seen him since immediately after his return," Hermione said truthfully, and Professor Slughorn smiled.

"Absolutely inspired, Miss Girard! Well, come along with me then, I believe I might have some in my private potions stores—I'd say you will have to try out the base of the potion first, have to be careful with such volatile ingredients, what?"

Tom and Hermione followed the professor toward his private office, and Tom took the opportunity to say quietly, "Dragon's blood?"

Hermione turned her head superciliously toward him. "Well, you refused to talk to me about the potion base at all. Did you really think I was going to simply go along with what you wanted to do?"

Tom thought to himself that he had been foolish to assume she would do so, yet any other witch would have done so without question. _Fool_, he chided himself. _She's not like other witches._

As Professor Slughorn began to rummage around in his cupboards, Tom leaned down and said quietly, "Well, bring me up to speed in the next thirty seconds, or you're going to look feuding and petty when I don't know what the hell he's talking about."

Hermione caught a glimpse of anger in his expression before he smoothed it away by dint of long practice. She whispered back, "It would serve you right, you pompous git," she paused and flicked her eyes up to his, and whatever she saw there was enough to make her reconsider her actions. She supposed it _was_ petty, and suddenly the satisfaction of putting one over on Tom Riddle academically evaporated like dew in the morning. She was behaving no better than he, and she knew better.

"It's the version we both initially discarded. If you use dragon's blood instead of virgin's blood, it stabilizes the newt skin and infusion of wormwood."

Hermione could see the wheels turning in Tom's head, but the only acknowledgement he gave her was a brief nod. Their attention was diverted by Professor Slughorn's exclamation of "Aha!" from the depths of what was clearly a magically extended cabinet. He reappeared with a very dusty amber glass bottle.

"Professor, might it be worthwhile to try a second base using salamander skin instead of the newt? That should be slightly less volatile, as well as reduce some of the effects on the weather patterns," Tom said quickly, and Professor Slughorn tapped the side of his nose.

"Just the thing, Tom! You see, I knew the pair of you could produce brilliant work if you just put your heads together! This is what I suggest—Miss Girard, you spend this period brewing the base you suggested, perhaps with a touch of ginger to settle it down a bit, and Tom, you brew the base with the salamander skin as you suggest. Then we can see which has the best stability before you choose the final recipe for Thursday, hmm?"

They both nodded, and Slughorn passed the bottle to Tom.

"Excellent! Get on with it, then. Such fun, these projects!"

With that Slughorn walked off to check on the next team, and Hermione quietly began to get her cauldron ready.

"The next time you have a brilliant idea about our joint project, at least do me the courtesy of giving me an _opportunity_ to sneer at it before you run off to Slughorn," Tom said in a low tone so their classmates couldn't eavesdrop.

"If _you _didn't treat me like some airheaded witch from the start I wouldn't have resorted to such pettiness," Hermione whispered back, crushing beetle eyes with perhaps a bit more force than necessary.

"You're right," her partner said quietly, so quietly that she almost missed it. She nearly cut herself with the edge of her knife from the shock of his near apology, but his next words crushed any sense of goodwill that engendered. "Believe me, I won't underestimate you again."

Hermione refused to let the unease of that statement be the note on which they ended the conversation. "Well, good. I hope that means you'll listen to my ideas the next time we have a joint project."

Tom viciously crushed his own beetle eyes. Little did she realize, he was _always_ listening to her…probably too well for her liking. Hermione was unaware of just how long-term a project they were in. This thought cheered him somewhat, and the corner of his mouth twitched up slightly as he stole glances at the witch next to him throughout the period.

At the end of the class, Slughorn saved their bases for last, dismissing the other teams one by one. Finally he arrived to check on both of their potions, and expressed a great deal of satisfaction with the consistency of each.

"I do believe that Tom's base is more potent, but it seems like it is not holding together quite as nicely as Hermione's. Well, this is a quandary!"

Hermione caught Tom's smug expression and piped up, "Professor, wouldn't fresh dragon's blood do a better job of stabilizing the base? Perhaps that would be a sufficient change to stabilize it enough to use."

Professor Slughorn nodded appreciatively. "You may be right, Hermione! I suppose your cousin might have some, eh? Well, let's all go and see if Professor Dumbledore is available, shall we? I'm sure he won't mind sharing some with you, dear."

Hermione could see that Tom was not best pleased to be dragged off to ask a favor of his least favorite professor, but she merely packed up her things as directed by Slughorn.

"Leave those bases, I'll clean those up later—let's get along."

Shrugging her bag onto her shoulder, Hermione trailed quietly behind their potions professor, fully aware that Tom was behind her. They reached Professor Dumbledore's office in short order, and fortunately for their project the professor was in. He opened the door himself, and cheerfully greeted his colleague.

"Hello, Horace, what can I do for you? Oh, I see you have Mr. Riddle and Miss Girard with you. Come in, come in."

Professor Slughorn wasted no time in coming to the point. "Thank you Albus, thank you. We stopped by to see if you would perhaps be able to spare a bit of fresh dragon's blood for Miss Girard and Mr. Riddle's potions project. They are working on an improved version of the Angel's Trumpet, and between the pair of them they have come up with quite a good base…"

"Which would be a bit better with fresh dragon's blood, I take it," Professor Dumbledore said, with a knowing look at Hermione before returning his attention to Professor Slughorn. "Unfortunately, Horace, I am out. I won't be getting any more until possibly Thursday, when I'm planning to visit the Welsh dragon preserve, but even then I will only get more if I have time to collect it myself."

Professor Slughorn looked affably at Dumbledore. "Surely you would be able to take Miss Girard or Mr. Riddle with you? They could help you collect it, and learn a valuable thing or two in the process, I'm sure! I can't imagine the headmaster would object to such a trip in aid of a seventh year potions project."

Professor Dumbledore looked at the pair of them and said, "I suppose I have no objections to that plan. Hermione, would you be able to accompany me?"

Hermione, who had said not a word during the whole exchange and had refused to even look at Tom, finally shot a glance at him before turning her gaze to Dumbledore. "I am terribly sorry, but Professor Beery has enlisted me to help him with the last flower collection for _Mala Mujer_, and that must be on Thursday."

Professor Slughorn was quick to fill a silence that was apt to become awkward had it continued for a second longer. "Well, that is a shame! But I'm sure Mr. Riddle here would be just as capable an assistant, wouldn't you agree, Albus?"

Professor Dumbledore turned his attention to Tom Riddle, who calmly met his look with apparent equanimity. "Well Tom, what say you?"

"I would be happy to be of assistance," Tom replied politely, and Professor Dumbledore nodded curtly in acquiescence and turned back to Slughorn.

"There, Horace, you will have your fresh dragon's blood. Do tell me how it works out."

The two professors chatted briefly about another matter of little consequence while Hermione and Tom waited. Hermione met Tom's briefly narrowed eyes with a cool raised eyebrow. Privately she resolved to run down Professor Beery immediately to inform him that Thursday would suit her best for the flower collection. Finally Professor Slughorn suggested they excuse themselves, and Hermione took the opportunity to head to the Great Hall for dinner, ignoring Tom's pointed looks.

* * *

Thursday approached much faster than Tom would have liked. From the snippet of conversation that Evan had overheard between Hermione and her head of house, she had nimbly dumped him into this trip with Dumbledore. Now as he prepared himself for an uncomfortable day with his most suspicious professor, he wondered exactly what Hermione had discussed with Dumbledore when the professor had returned.

"Ah, Mr. Riddle. Ready to go?" Professor Dumbledore was arrayed in the most ghastly set of robes Tom could picture, a dizzying array of orange, purple, and a virulent pink. He wondered not for the first time if the wizard was color-blind. "I believe side-along would be best, Tom."

Tom nodded once curtly, then took the professor's proffered forearm. He hated side-along apparition, but there was nothing for it, as he had never been to Wales. The uncomfortable lurch and twist pissed him off, but he was rock solid on his feet when they landed on a craggy hillside dotted with snow.

"Snowdonia?" Tom asked, coolly taking in their surroundings.

"Indeed. Let us be off. It's about a mile through the gap."

The professor set off at a brisk clip which Tom had no problem matching. For thirty seconds, Tom harbored the cheerful illusion that the trek would pass in silence, but Professor Dumbledore was clearly in a chatty mood.

"My young cousin tells me you are quite interested in her, Tom." Dumbledore took a curious, appraising glance of the young man beside him, not even bothering to disguise his interest. "I confess myself surprised by your attention."

_Fuck_. This was precisely the type of landmine Tom had expected, and though he had his answer ready, he was peeved that Hermione had managed to dump him so thoroughly in the middle of a day likely to be peppered with opportunities for interrogations which Dumbledore would disguise as cheerful interest in the behalf of his supposed relative Hermione.

"Well, sir, she is quite an interesting witch."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at that. Herbert Beery had informed him that it was Hermione's idea to do the flower collection on Thursday, which meant she had purposefully engineered this little trip for the pair of them. Herbert was of the firm opinion that perhaps Tom was being a bit too aggressive in courting her. Albus wasn't so sure about that—Tom was interested in her, but he wasn't convinced that it was for anything other than coldhearted reasons. Today he aimed to get a better idea of what Tom was after if he could manage it.

"How so, pray tell? Apart from being intelligent like her mother, I don't see how Hermione is so very particularly different from her peers," Dumbledore observed with a raised brow, slowly stopping briefly to appraise Tom. "You have never been one for pursuing the witches, Tom."

Tom met Dumbledore's gaze easily enough, confident in his own Occlumency and the story he had concocted. "She is remarkably capable, sir. You'll pardon me for saying so, but she is also singularly uninterested in finding a husband. I find that…refreshing."

"I see," Dumbledore replied, resuming his walking. "Frankly, I was under the impression that she doesn't like you very much, Tom."

He seemed to take a great delight in saying that, which caused Tom to scowl slightly as he caught up again to the professor.

"I believe it is partly a case of my reputation preceding me, professor," he said innocently enough, but the subtext was plain. Tom was inferring that Dumbledore had poisoned the girl against him. This was very much in character with what Albus knew of how Tom's mind worked, but it didn't get him any closer to _why_ Tom was pursuing Hermione.

"Do you have a reputation, Mr. Riddle? I wasn't aware of one, other than perhaps an overly healthy dose of pride," Dumbledore replied as they drew up to an enormous pair of gates, the surrounding wall of native stone quite high. "But I'm sure you will have time enough today to convince me of the sincerity of any affection you feel for my young cousin. Prewett, open up!"

The professor had banged heavily on the doors as he spoke, and a small window opened, a youngish man with ginger eyebrows peering out.

"Albus! Come in, come in," the man said in a surprisingly deep voice, then patted the professor heartily on the back as he entered. Tom stepped in deftly behind him, waiting for the professor to introduce him. Dumbledore seemed to have forgotten him momentarily, then turned and said, "Oh yes, let me introduce one of my students, Thomas Riddle. Tom, this is Ignatius Prewett, one of the dragon keepers here."

"Nice to meet you," Ignatius offered kindly, and Tom nodded in reply. "Quiet, isn't he?"

"Oh, Mr. Riddle lives up to his name well enough," Albus said enigmatically. "Now, I wanted to enquire about that Norwegian Ridgeback you were nursing, and while we're at it, Mr. Riddle here would like to try his hand at acquiring some fresh dragon's blood for a potions project he's working on. I trust you can find an appropriate specimen on which he can try his luck?"

Ignatius Prewett looked Tom over with an appraising eye. "Hmmm, you seem sturdy enough. We've a Welsh Green that's a bit of a spitfire. Young amputee, part of the wing missing. It's about time for a check up. Wand out!"

Tom strongly disliked being given orders by someone who had no business ordering him about, but he could see that Dumbledore was watching him keenly and he had no doubt that there were more questions to come about Hermione. Mentally resolving to remember every little detail of this little lesson, he withdrew his wand from his sleeve with a flourish and mock bowed to the insolent dragon keeper.

"Protect yourself," the man barked, giving Tom next to no time to react before a powerful flame was coming his way. Tom didn't even use a verbal incantation, merely let the flame barrel around his shield without much in the way of effort.

"He'll do well enough," Ignatius said to Dumbledore as he ceased casting, ignoring Tom completely. "Come along then," he said, then loped off under the assumption that they would follow him, which they did.

Professor Dumbledore whispered offhandedly as they hurried along, "Mr. Prewett is rather famous for his brusque nature. Not to worry, I'm told it's part of his _charm_—exactly what Professor Slughorn says about you, come to think of it."

Tom ignored that little jibe and gritted his teeth.

Within three hours, Tom had been burnt by a poorly deflected flame from the Welsh Green whom, it turned out, was sitting a nest of eggs. Prewett had neglected to mention _that_ before turning Tom loose with the unsavory task of distracting the brooding female so the dragon keeper could immobilize her long enough to look at one of her eyes which was scarred. After that rather unpleasant incident, which was more unpleasant due to his singed pride than the actual burn, it had been rather uneventful to extract some blood from her tail while Professor Dumbledore chatted easily enough with Prewett. Then he'd had to endure an hour of back slapping and a vile Welsh ale, followed by four cold, wet hours on a broom. He had balked at that initially, but Professor Dumbledore assured him,

"It compromises the properties of fresh dragon's blood if you apparate with it. Best to fly back. Come along, I have two brooms from the school which we can use."

This was just the beginning of the fun of spending four hours in flight with Professor Albus Dumbledore, who was by no means done with his attempts to ferret information from young Tom Riddle about his actual intentions concerning Hermione Girard. The professor was quite adept with charms, and it was no trouble for him to conjure a speaking charm that allowed them to converse.

"Interesting family, the Prewetts. Remarkably open-minded considering their heritage. Nice to see that sort of adaptation to the times among the more well-known wizarding families."

Tom said nothing. He had learned long ago that to attempt any sort of discussion with Professor Dumbledore was a fruitless endeavor, and he had no interest in engaging in a debate on the merits of pureblood ideology with a professor he detested. He waited for the professor's next salvo, and it wasn't long in coming.

"There is quite a lot of discord at present between families. It is having some unpleasant effects in Germany and elsewhere. I don't suppose you've been paying any attention to that?"

Was Dumbledore's tone slightly sharper, or was he imagining it? Tom disliked not being able to read the professor's body language due to their being on broomsticks, so he chose a neutral reply. "It would be hard not to pay attention to that, sir."

Dumbledore grimaced slightly. Well, he hadn't expected the boy to be easy to crack. He threw a glance at the young man and then said, "Hermione mentioned you had an interest in her arrival here."

_Well that was unsubtle_, Tom thought to himself. "Yes, it would be difficult not to be interested given that she recently lost her parents. I would hope that anyone would be sensitive to her grief and drastically changed circumstances."

Was it his imagination, or was there a slight inflection on 'drastically'? Dumbledore decided to be a bit more direct.

"And yet you do not hesitate to spar with her in all of the courses you share, Tom. I wonder why you find this activity so satisfying, and so suddenly too. I can well remember a time when you were not pleased by anyone arguing with you."

"I don't think that Miss Girard would be satisfied with less than vigorous debate on controversial subjects, professor. And such debates only serve to clarify my own opinions, which must surely be considered a good thing?"

"You will understand why I am surprised by you seeking out Hermione for social engagements. I had gotten the impression from Hermione that she was less than impressed with your manners."

_Now we're getting down to it_, Tom thought to himself. Dumbledore's look was keen, and Tom took the excuse of refreshing his impervious charms on his shoes and cloak before turning his attention back to his transfiguration professor. It didn't do much good with the way the wind was bucking them about, but it was better than getting thoroughly soaked. He wondered if Hermione _had _allowed Dumbledore a peek at her mind, in which case the Obliviate would have stood out like a sore thumb. Dumbledore couldn't afford to ask the Ministry's professional memory experts in to attempt a restoration, so even if he knew about it, he couldn't act upon it unless Tom gave himself away—something which he had no intention of doing.

"As I said, I was surprised by her capabilities when we first met." He paused for deliberate effect, as if thinking whether he really wanted to say what was about to come out of his mouth, then said, "I was a bit rude to her at first. Now that we have been partnered together, I am beginning to appreciate the depth of her knowledge on many subjects." _There, chew on that, old man_.

The sly tone at the end of Tom's sentence gave Dumbledore pause, so he took the opportunity of the next few seconds to consider what Tom had said thus far. Albus' mind whirred slightly, adjusting his tack. "She is under the impression that you are more interested in her past than in her personally."

_Time for the show_, Tom thought grimly. "Oh no, sir, I assure you. Hermione is the most intriguing girl I've ever met. Compared to her peers, it's only natural that she should stand out. I haven't asked much about her life before she arrived here, but I do want to be sensitive to her feelings. Perhaps I should not mention Grindelwald…?"

_Let's hear you defend her past then, and keep your bloody nose out of my business_.

"She is quite a capable witch, as you say. She has been through quite a lot, and I'm sure she prefers to put it behind her as much as possible for the time being."

Tom noticed that Dumbledore ignored his question about Hermione's life before her arrival here. He knew that the professor's rigorous morals had probably prevented him from having a nose around in her mind, doubtless due to some well-placed fear of messing up the future. Tom himself had no such qualms, even if he wasn't quite sure yet how he would be best served by whatever information he could glean from Hermione. It was smart of Dumbledore to avoid making up details that could prove messy to corroborate in the future.

Albus was studying the Head Boy, trying to decide exactly how much Tom was willing to risk in conversation. He had not given much away, except for many statements with possible hidden meanings. The boy was clever and more than a touch malicious, but thus far Hermione had seemed to hold her own with him. It was a difficult situation, and one which he would have to keep an eye on. He considered again that perhaps Herbert was onto something with his gentle inference that it was possible for Tom Riddle to be genuinely interested in the girl. He decided to tweak Tom's nose a bit and see what his response was.

"I understand Herecles Potter has taken quite an interest in her as well."

Dumbledore did not miss that Tom's eyes narrowed for a brief microsecond before his expression carefully blanked again and he resumed his casual stare forward over the handle of his broom. "Mr. Potter is interested in any girl that will give him the time of day. Since he seems to have run through the girls in his own house, he seems to be moving on to the others."

"That smacks of a bit of jealousy, Tom." Dumbledore's tone was a bit too cheerful for Tom's taste. "I'd say Hermione is able to determine if she is interested in a beau like Mr. Potter. He is quite jolly, which perhaps is just what she needs after a difficult period. I can't say I would disapprove of her choice if she chose to see him."

The omission of his own name was quite deliberate, he was sure, and Tom kept his face expressionless. "At this point, I am not sure Hermione needs a beau like Mr. Potter. He is very juvenile in his interests and activities, and…" Tom hesitated to give his statement more supposed emotional weight, "…frankly I think she needs someone of a more _serious_ bent, given her intelligence."

"I would advise you not to set your mind on a relationship you may find you cannot have, Mr. Riddle." Dumbledore's tone was a bit firmer now. _Trying to warn me off, are you, old man?_ "It is highly likely that Hermione will return home once the unpleasantness over there settles out. I am quite certain she is not interested in any sort of serious relationship."

"I understand you perfectly, Professor. After all, I am only her partner in two classes. It is not as if I am looking for a wife or any of the other business that seems to consume many of my peers at this stage." This, at least, was true, and Tom infused his voice with the absolute honesty of his statement. _I'm not looking, because whatever of that nature I need in future, I have already provided for myself_.

"Very true, Tom." Dumbledore was certain he had not heard Tom Riddle behave with this degree of jealousy over anything other than power. It was quite a noticeable thing, if it weren't all a performance.

"I believe Herecles is planning to ask her to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party," Dumbledore remarked. "That would be quite a happy meeting of houses, I believe."

"She has agreed to go to the party with me, sir," Tom said, only because he was quite certain that Dumbledore already knew this and would have been suspicious if he had not confirmed it. _Damn Slughorn and his gossipy nature_.

"I see. Well Mr. Riddle, I certainly hope that I will hear that you have been treating my cousin with nothing but the utmost politeness. I wouldn't want her to feel forced into your company unwillingly."

Tom was silent at this and Dumbledore wondered at the likely reasons for it. Tom wondered exactly what Hermione had said to the professor about his treatment of her. Dumbledore wondered exactly how Tom had achieved Hermione's consent to attend the party with him, and resolved to speak to her at the first opportunity. Both lapsed into silence for the remainder of the flight, Tom privately thinking that Hermione had chosen her punishment for him quite well, indeed.


	12. A Compromise, or a Promise?

**Good evening again wonderful readers. Thanks to all the new followers & faves, and all of the wonderful reviewers out there!**

**Relatela, Tom is not the kind to forgive and forget...he will get his own back eventually, hehe.**

**Atlantean Diva, I love your description of Tom as a teen...that is exactly how I see him. I have to tell you LV, when he comes into the picture, is going to be quite fun too, for a whole host of different reasons. **

**Grace Hearford, yes I did intend to keep you on pins and needles. **

** I know you are all keen to find out how that Christmas party goes, but we aren't quite there yet. I've replied to most reviews by PM, so, enjoy!**

* * *

"Good morning."

Hermione turned from the breakfast table to face the Head Boy, fully attired in his student robes, gleaming badge on his chest. He had his bag slung across his shoulder, and his tone was its usual measured cadence, yet the expression in his eyes eloquently conveyed that he was well aware of her maneuvering regarding his trip to the dragon preserve with Dumbledore.

"Hello," was all the greeting Hermione managed, whatever else she had been about to say dying in her throat when she read that message in his gaze.

"Professor Slughorn had me brew the base last night with the fresh dragon's blood, so we will be brewing the potion in class today."

"Thank you for telling me," Hermione replied, her mind whirring as she added up the hours required to brew the base. He must have been up until nearly midnight, and missed dinner too. A little worm of guilt began to gnaw at her a tiny bit. "I would have helped."

"It was unnecessary. I will see you in class." Tom moved off, satisfied with the flicker of guilt across Hermione's face. It was only the first salvo in their new, quieter battle, but it had gone in his favor. The fact that her blatantly eavesdropping roommates would praise his selflessness to her over the remainder of breakfast was just an added bonus.

Hermione did have to listen to her roommates' prattle about Tom Riddle, perfect boy, but soon enough she was able to escape to the relative quiet of Magical Theory and then Transfiguration. The fact that Tom ignored her utterly did not go without notice by herself and others, but Hermione refused to dwell on it.

Before she knew it Hermione found herself in the Potions classroom that afternoon, brewing the agreed upon recipe for the Angel's Trumpet potion alongside Tom Riddle. They had silently divided the steps evenly and while Hermione was glad that Tom seemed content enough to let her do her own work without any commentary, she wondered at his relative silence. Did it mean he was mad, or was he simply ignoring her? He was the primary brewer, partly because he was faster at putting in ingredients, and partly because with the table being so tall it was easier for him to stir. This arrangement suited Hermione, however, as she felt herself to be slightly more finicky about chopped ingredients, wanting the most consistent sizing possible.

Finally they had added the last ingredient, and Tom finished the final clockwise stir, sliding his stirring rod out of the potion slowly. The Angel's Trumpet potion was a vivid yellow in color, the recipe they had agreed on producing a pleasant scent that was almost incense-like.

"Excellent, you pair!" Slughorn complimented, putting his fingers into his vest pockets. "Well, it would be a terrible shame to let such a marvelous potion go to waste. You two remain after class—we'll take it up to the top of the clock tower, and then we shall see, hmmm?"

"Yes, sir," Tom said, his polite mask concealing any feelings he had concerning Hermione's little engineered punishment. Hermione was nervous, wondering what it meant that he hadn't mentioned it once throughout their brewing, and even now was remaining silent instead of whispering jabs at her.

"Our next partners assignment will be handed out next week. I expect we will resume our Wednesday afternoon research?" Tom said, interrupting her thoughts.

"I suppose so," Hermione said, because she couldn't think of any reason not to do it. As the year progressed the assignments would get more complicated, and it would require more and more time spent with her partner in Potions and DADA both. Add in that they were due to head into the Forbidden Forest for the first of their field trials in DADA a week from Friday, and Hermione was intimidated by Tom's broodiness. She had no idea how to handle a potentially pissed off nascent Dark Lord.

As the class ended, Tom and Hermione brought their potion to Slughorn's desk, who made quick work of locking and warding the classroom before leading them all the way up to the clock tower. Slughorn was positively cheery despite the cold wind and rain that was pelting them.

"Now, I know that you will have read what this potion does by now, but reading about it is not quite the same thing as experiencing it. Tom, if you please?"

Tom levitated the potion with his wand, then with a quick thrust he sent it skyward, allowing Hermione to break the flask. As the potion dissipated into the air, a series of colored clouds formed in the shape of a long, narrow horn, shaded like a sunset. A low, melodious tone sounded, echoing throughout the valley of Hogwarts.

"Beautiful, isn't it? Nothing quite as attention-getting as the Angel's Trumpet," Slughorn said fondly. Hermione would have appreciated the sight more, if she hadn't stolen a glance at Tom Riddle and seen the expression on his face. Somehow she knew this potion was the start of the Dark Mark, the wind cutting through the tower causing the notes of the Angel's Trumpet to warp like a harsh echo of how Tom Riddle would distort magic to his own ends.

"It's lovely," Hermione said truthfully, as Tom remained silent. Finally the sound dissipated, and Slughorn turned to troop back down the stairs.

"See you in class!" Slughorn said with a cheerful wave, and Hermione took the opportunity to preempt any mention of the dragon preserve trip.

"Thank you again for getting the fresh dragon's blood," Hermione said, casting a quick look at Tom's profile. His jaw could have been etched in granite, his face expressionless as he spoke.

"I thank you for the opportunity to spend more time with Professor Dumbledore. As you know, we get along so famously."

The sharp edge of his comments simultaneously stung and hardened Hermione's resolve to stand up to him. "I wouldn't have suggested it if it weren't a good idea for the potion, as well as your ego. You may be very good with magic, Tom Riddle, but you are terrible with people! If you want to keep me as your potions partner or DADA partner, you are going to have to treat me as an _equal_, and not a lackey."

He turned to face her fully at that. "And if I did so, would you be amenable to _my_ suggestions? Because I can think of a few ideas of my own regarding your performance in DADA. If you want me to take you as an equal, you'd better be prepared to take equal measure of whatever you want to try to dish out to me."

There was an underlying threat, of that there was no question, but Hermione was not insensible of the compliment he paid her in even considering her opinion. And he did not respond well to weakness. She had to fight him for every inch of ground, and fight she would. She deliberately moved closer to him so they were standing toe to toe, raising her gaze defiantly to meet his.

"I can take whatever _suggestions_ you make, Tom Riddle, but if you think to _command_ me, think again. Are we clear?"

A glimmer of amusement lit his eyes. "Perfectly."

* * *

"I believe you're in my seat."

The wealth of nuance which Tom Riddle infused into that simple statement was truly impressive, and yet the way Herecles Potter completely ignored it was even more impressive.

"Oh, sorry Riddle. Hermione is just helping me with my Herbology." The Gryffindor was slouched inelegantly across his chair, and it was obvious to Tom that he wasn't paying attention to what Hermione was trying to teach him. It being the middle of the week, the library was dotted with a mix of houses, and Tom noticed that Hermione's roommates, Longbottom, and Augusta Donaghy were seated a table away, all stealing furtive glances at the unfolding drama.

"Hermione and I have an appointment to go over our strategy for the first DADA trial this week," Tom said, his gaze darting to meet Hermione's. She was half apologetic and half defiant, so he continued, "You remember that I can't do it later, Hermione."

Hermione knew nothing of the sort, but he could conceivably have some Head Boy duties. Equally, he could be meeting his lackeys. She frowned. "This won't take long, Tom. Either wait or we can discuss it before class on Friday."

Tom had no intentions of leaving Hermione alone with Herecles Potter. It was a happy coincidence that he had made the arrangement to meet Hermione about the DADA trial, otherwise he would have had to invent some excuse when Evan had informed him that Potter had ingratiated himself to her in the library.

"I'll just wait, then."

Tom took his time arranging his DADA text and notes on the table, shamelessly eavesdropping on Hermione's quiet instruction to Herecles. She was trying to teach him about the aquaculture set up required for gillyweed and other aquatic herbs, but Potter seemed incapable of grasping the finer points of salt balance and appropriate flora and fauna to ensure a healthy growth. After she repeated the species of water snail for the tank for the third time, Tom lazily remarked,

"Perhaps Mr. Potter would be better served to brave the Merpeople to fetch his own gillyweed, since the finer points of growing his own seem to be escaping him."

"That's not helpful," Hermione whispered, darting a look at the cranky librarian before returning her gaze to Tom.

"Neither is it helpful to repeat the same information three times in the hope that he will retain it any better," Tom said pointedly.

"Repetition is a tried and true method of learning!" Hermione replied in a slightly louder tone of voice, which caused Mr. Ziebler to flick his wand at them, the silent shower of sparks a reminder to be _quiet_ in the library. Herecles, with an ill-suppressed grin, sat back in his chair.

"I'm sure I'll get it eventually," Herecles said good-naturedly. "Hermione is very patient with me."

The contrast between her lack of patience with Tom and inferred abundance toward Herecles could not have been starker.

"How are you even planning to remember this, anyhow? You aren't even taking notes," Tom observed coldly.

Hermione had wondered the same thing, but had not felt it polite to mention it. Of course she wouldn't say anything about it now that Tom had pointed it out, but she was beginning to feel just the slightest bit like a chew toy between two dogs.

"It just comes to me when I need it," Herecles shrugged. "Notes aren't much help."

Hermione turned on him at this. "But how do you know if you've _learned_ anything?"

"I just know it or I don't when I take the test."

This sort of ambivalent attitude could not have been better designed to provoke her, but she couldn't say a word in front of Tom Riddle. Inwardly Hermione fumed, but replied flatly, "Well, I don't see how such a method could work, but it is your grade, after all."

At this point Abraxas Malfoy strolled up and helped himself to the chair on the other side of Tom with a cool nod to the Head Boy.

"Miss Girard. _Potter_."

Hermione could see that the Malfoy sneer was virtually unchanged over two generations, as Abraxas sounded just like Draco when he greeted Harry. Lips thinned, Hermione returned her attention to her Herbology notes, and asked Herecles, "Was there anything else about the aquatic herbs you were struggling with?"

Abraxas Malfoy fixed his supercilious gaze on Hermione. "Not helping him with his homework are you, Miss Girard? Mr. Potter here is well known for running through pretty girls who can help him in particular classes. I would have thought you too smart to fall for his particular _charm_."

Hermione returned his insolent stare with a cold one of her own. "I find it valuable to help others who ask, Mr. Malfoy, but I do thank you for your pressing concern about my tutoring."

Herecles sat up and folded his hands on the table, not bothering to look at Malfoy as he tossed out his own reply. "That's a bit rich coming from you, Malfoy. You can't get any girls to study with you after that incident with Myrtle Jameson and Olive Hornby."

Hermione knew this was a low blow, but she shouldn't know about it and so she kept quite still as both boys suddenly stood up. Their aggressive posture drew the attention of the hawkish librarian, who came over and ordered them both out with a stern warning that brawling would not be tolerated in the library.

"Sorry," Herecles mouthed to Hermione before he sauntered out, followed by Abraxas, who had grabbed his bag from the chair before allowing Mr. Ziebler to escort him to the doors.

"Well, that was amusing," Tom said coolly. "What interesting company you keep, Hermione."

"Indeed."

Somehow she couldn't bring herself to ask about the DADA trial, and Tom was in no mood to bring up the subject. They worked side by side in silence on different assignments until Tom flicked his things away to his bag and stood. This was a pointless waste of his time, and he was in no mood to offer corrections about her sloppy spell casting.

"I have a prefect meeting. I will see you in DADA tomorrow."

Hermione nodded and briefly met his eyes before he left. She told herself sternly that she was _not_ disappointed about the silent outcome of their study session. It didn't matter to her if he didn't like her helping Herecles. She got up and moved to the next table, receiving only a raised eyebrow from Olivia and a cool glance from Sophie before they resumed their own work. She felt the warm flush of blood to her cheeks at the realization that they had taken in the whole sorry spectacle, and doubled over her parchment, her quill scratching the surface with a bit more force than necessary.

Tom found Abraxas waiting in a slouch beside the library doors. He kept walking and Abraxas fell into step alongside him.

"Mr. Potter's broom is a Comet 180, is it not? Mr. MacNair's uncle works for Comet. Send him to my room after dinner."

Abraxas stole a glance at the Head Boy's granite expression.

"It will be done."

* * *

"Had a fight with Tom lately?" Phineas asked, noticing that the Head Boy was strangely absent from Hermione's side as they headed toward Arithmancy the next morning.

"Why does everyone assume we are dating?" Hermione complained. "He just happens to be my partner in two classes and is in two others with me, and he is keen to keep his place at the head of the class."

"No need to be touchy about it," Phineas said. "Frankly I think you have a good influence on him—he seems more human with you."

_You have no idea_, Hermione reflected. "What about Augusta? Are you taking her on the next Hogsmeade trip?"

"Hey," Olivia said as she joined them. "Are you ready for DADA tomorrow?"

"Don't ask," Hermione groaned, and Phineas raised an eyebrow at her.

"Please. If anyone will pass the trial with flying colors, it's you and Riddle. Anything that gets past you will be shut down cold by his lightning fast wand."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence in my abilities," Hermione groused, and Olivia laughed.

"I think you just don't like knowing that he's better than you at a subject," she teased, and Hermione shook her head.

"That is absolutely not it," she denied, and her friends exchanged a glance.

"Whatever makes you feel better, Hermione," Phineas said, and Hermione's lips compressed into a thin line. She wished she could throw it all to hell and tell them what she knew about Tom Riddle, but she didn't dare. It was bad enough that he had done what he had already, she didn't need to screw the timeline up further by dragging more innocent people into her mess.

* * *

"Ready?" Tom asked, his wand out as they surveyed the forest.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Hermione said. After the abortive study session in the library, Tom had been busy with arranging the holiday schedule for the prefects as well as his regular coursework. As a result, his promise to tutor her in DADA had not begun before the first trial. Hermione reminded herself of all the different creatures and spells she had faced, and had convinced herself that she did not need Tom's help or approval for her performance today. She would be just fine on her own.

The trials were arranged in sections of the Forbidden Forest which had been cleared of all but the creatures that Professor Merrythought had chosen for the first trial. Even though the professor was somewhere above them on a broom, the dense tree cover of the forest meant that she wouldn't see anything until the spells started flying, so the students had to be at least mildly competent or they could be in danger. This was the reason that the DADA classes only did trials during their seventh year, when presumably they had acquired ample sufficiencies to sustain them through the first part of any encounter with the Dark Arts.

"I wonder what she has in store for us," Hermione said. She had seen Gibbon after a Hippogriff had gotten a piece of him, and it hadn't been pretty. Apparently the forerunners of the Death Eaters were just as arrogant as their successors.

"Not a Hippogriff, I can tell you that," Tom said. "She will have picked something…challenging." His tone indicated he was alert, his eyes and ears scanning the undergrowth.

"Great," Hermione muttered as Tom said, "Shhh!", hearing something coming their way. Something…large, and moving fast. Both of them pointed their wands in the direction of the noise, but before whatever it was could make its way toward them, there was the sound of something else crashing through the trees, then a loud bang and scuffling sounds.

"I suspect our trial just got a bit more complex," Tom said as growls and shrieks filled the air.

"Is that a…?" Hermione began, and Tom finished, "A graphorn," as the beast broke into their clearing.

"And a mountain troll," Hermione said, eyeing the large, scarred troll currently mounted on the back of the graphorn. "I HATE trolls."

The troll had spotted them, and the graphorn was careening wildly, trying to get the troll off its back.

"Stupefy!" Hermione said, throwing the first spell.

"That won't work on the graphorn!" Tom shouted, dodging the troll's club while Hermione ran away from the graphorn's head, which it was swinging wildly in the hope of making contact with something.

"I know, but it would work on the troll!" she shouted back, tossing off stunners, slicing hexes, and petrifying spells with a rapidity that Tom had certainly never seen from her in the classroom. He was a bit preoccupied, however, with the sharp horns of the graphorn, which were aiming relentlessly at him now that Hermione had managed to get around to the back of the beast. The troll twisted on top of the graphorn's hump, swinging his club fiercely right at the witch.

"_Reducto_!" Tom said harshly, causing the club to explode in a thousand splinters, eliciting a roar from the troll and a howl of pain from the graphorn, one of whose eyes was pierced by one of the splinters.

"_Obscuro_!" Hermione hit the graphorn squarely and temporarily blindfolded it, causing it to stumble wildly, still trying to buck the troll off its back. By sheer luck the troll's swinging hands made contact with Tom, sending him flying across the clearing. Hermione's view of him was blocked by the graphorn, whose wild contortions had loosened the blindfold. It fixed its eye on her and charged with a wild shriek, lowering its head with its horns pointed right for her.

"_Ferrumino_!" she cried, pointing her wand at its left front foot. The four thumbs made solid contact with the ground and remained there, the beast's forward momentum carrying it forward as Hermione dashed out of the way. The graphorn's horns buried themselves in the dirt as it flipped over from the force of its momentum with a bellow of pain, throwing the troll off its back at last, right in Hermione's direction.

The troll roared as it rolled off the graphorn, and Tom saw in slow motion as the creature's torn fingernails stretched toward what was _his_, the witch who was right in front of the troll's hands as its roll thudded to a halt. Suddenly Hermione was eleven again, petrified from fear as a fifteen foot troll rolled right at her.

"_Incendio_!" Tom shouted, flames erupting violently from his wand and encircling the troll before it could grab Hermione. The creature screamed in agony as Tom controlled the flames rigidly so Hermione would not be burnt. He moved them to the left, giving the troll room to roll away from her and away from the burning flames he wielded with wicked alacrity.

"_Petrificus Totalis_!" Professor Merrythought's spell hitting the screaming troll was enough to snap Hermione out of it, her next spell binding the graphorn quite thoroughly as their professor brought her broom to a screeching halt in the clearing. Tom ceased casting just as Hermione threw herself into his arms, her own encircling him with a fervent hug.

"Thank you," she said against his chest, and for the first time in his life Tom Riddle felt himself to be the recipient of pure gratitude. His arms clumsily surrounded her, the novel sensation of feeling stunned making him highly uncomfortable.

"Well done! You were only meant to have the graphorn!" Professor Merrythought said with irritation as Professor Dumbledore landed beside her, stepping from his broom with ease. Hermione hadn't heard from anyone that he was also serving as a referee for the trials, so to see him from her vantage point within Tom Riddle's arms was a bit of a shock to her system.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" he asked, his expression saying clearly that he was taking in the way she was hugging the Head Boy. She let go of Tom, his arms falling away from her instantly in response.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, darting a glance at Professor Merrythought, but not wanting to look at the dark boy she had just been embracing. "I just…hate trolls."

"So you said," Tom commented drily, his usual arrogance a convenient mask as his mind tumbled about over the feeling of Hermione's arms around him, how honestly grateful she was for keeping that troll away from her.

"One of your classmates dissolved the magical barriers between the three trial areas, and the troll got away from them. Unfortunately, we were unable to perceive exactly where it had gone with all of the noise from the trials," Professor Dumbledore said as he circled the injured and bound graphorn, taking in its foot fixed firmly to the forest floor. "Permanent sticking charm?" he asked, and Hermione nodded.

"I knew it worked on dragon skin and since graphorn skin has similar magical properties it seemed a likely choice."

"Brilliant," Professor Merrythought said admiringly, then turned her praise to Tom. "And your control of _Incendio_ is unparalleled, Mr. Riddle! Extremely well done, both of you! Outstanding performance, especially under trying circumstances."

Tom looked at the paralyzed troll, whose stupid eyes were fixed on them both, the stench from its burnt flesh causing his nose to twitch. "May we go, then?" he asked, taking Hermione's hand before she could scoot away from him. Professor Dumbledore noticed the act but said nothing, and Professor Merrythought nodded briskly.

"You may apparate back to the gates. 'O's for both of you," she said as she mounted her broom again.

"And I'm sure Professor Slughorn will extend his thanks for the potions ingredients," Professor Dumbledore said with a nod to the graphorn's horns.

"May we receive the proceeds from those?" Hermione asked boldly. She knew Tom didn't have much money, and it was the least she could do.

"I don't see why not, Miss Girard," Dumbledore said thoughtfully.

"Thank you, sir," she said, then Tom winked them both away.


	13. An Uneasy Detente

**Good evening wonderful readers! Busy busy week in work ahead, but then I shall be on break, so hooray! Here's hoping that means a few more bursts of frequent updates. THANK YOU for all the lovely reviews! I'm glad you are all enjoying this, and hope I continue to deliver for you. I'm going to try to reply to the reviews via PM momentarily. For those without PMs or an account, thanks so much for your positive remarks! We are getting closer to Christmas break but not quite to the party yet-that will be in the next chapter.**

**Do let me know what you think, and many abundant thanks to JKR for the marvelous world in which I humbly play. Thanks for reading.**

* * *

The days following the DADA trial were awkward for both of them. Word had spread of their trial, and Hermione was being asked to recount how they had taken down both a troll and a graphorn by eager second years in the common room, and slyly accosted in the corridors by fifth year girls who were more interested in tales of Tom's derring-do than of how it actually played out. Of course Tom was saying nothing, but that only added to his mystique. Personally, Hermione was horrified that she had actually _hugged_ the future Dark Lord! Yes, he had saved her from the troll; but because she couldn't say why she had felt compelled to make contact with him, and it had been witnessed by Professor Dumbledore! She was hideously embarrassed with herself.

Tom did not know what to make of the feeling of receiving her hug. It shouldn't have affected him at all to know that she was genuinely grateful to him. He would have been able to chalk it up entirely to another successful move forward toward his goal of securing her, but for one thing: that hand clasp. He had taken her hand, not the other way around. He could have apparated them with a hand on her arm, but he had chosen, deliberately, to take her hand, without any ulterior motive. In hindsight he could see that it was a smart move, portraying to Dumbledore that he was romantically interested in Hermione, but those had not been his thoughts at the time. And this was worrisome, so much so that he distanced himself from her slightly, brooding.

His more astute followers noticed, of course.

"My lord?" Abraxas asked one afternoon, very quietly, as they sat in the Slytherin common room. Tom turned his head to regard the Malfoy heir with a sharply inquisitive look.

"Yes?" he said, and waited. Waiting was one of the best strategies for getting people to do what you wanted them to do, and Tom was a master at it.

"Some of the Knights were wondering about your plans for Miss Girard, if you were planning to make her one of our little group. After her performance during the DADA trial, some would not be so opposed…"

Abraxas was trying to be as circumspect as possible, but Tom was in no mood to answer questions from snippy followers. "You are saying that they are talking about her. Call a meeting. This evening after dinner—8 pm."

"Yes, my lord," Abraxas said, and made to leave before Tom could do anything to him personally for being the messenger. He was too late, however, as Tom called out quietly, "Oh, and Abraxas? Be there half an hour early yourself. You and I need to have a little chat."

"Yes, my lord." Abraxas' eyes narrowed. He was going to hex Rosier into next week for refusing to tell Tom what some of them were saying. He only hoped the rest got punished more severely than himself.

* * *

When all of his Knights were assembled, Tom let his magic run a bit freely, the warm up with Abraxas a wonderful reminder of why he was born to do this, to lead. _Look at them all, just waiting for what they know will be a dose of agonizing punishment_. It was his teaching that kept them coming back for more, however. They wouldn't learn any of what he taught them anywhere else, and for as long as he was alive, Tom Riddle, soon to be known to all as Lord Voldemort, would ensure it remained that way.

As usual, his magic caused them to cower a bit. Tom's personal magic was Dark, as deep and fathomless as the ocean, and more powerful. It was what had drawn each of these boys here, and they would remain here long into their manhoods—here, in his circle of supplicants. Just where he wanted them.

"It has come to my attention that some among you have been speaking of my plans for Hermione Girard," Lord Voldemort began, his wand flexing slightly as he channeled some of his magic through it, the resounding whip crack across their backs causing a few stifled groans. "I thought I had made myself perfectly clear, but I can see that you all need a reminder. _Crucio!_"

His voice was harsh, the curse equally reflecting the intensity of his anger. What surprised his Knights was that it was a collective curse, causing them all to drop to the floor, their nerves and throats screaming from the pain he inflicted so easily. He held the curse for a minute, then flung Abraxas Malfoy against the wall as he lifted it, wordlessly casting _Legilimens_ and penetrating the boy's mind easily. He flicked through his recent thoughts of Hermione, was pleased to note that none were lustful or disrespectful…that would not be acceptable. And he had told the truth about others, not himself, speaking about her. He let Abraxas drop to the floor, satisfied with his servant after the prequel and the truths laid bare in his mind.

The others were less fortunate, although Rosier, too, passed his little test after the second go-round of the Cruciatus. Slowly Voldemort worked through the circle of boys, assessing who was doubting his plans for the future. Once he was through with all of them, he waited for them to drag themselves back to the appropriate kneeling position.

"Let me make something very clear. Every single one of you _failed_ to protect your mind from me after being exposed to the Cruciatus curse. _Every one of you_. I have seen one person withstand my Legilimency after being subjected to my Cruciatus—any guesses as to who that is?" Tom's voice was a whisper of its usual volume, but he knew he had every iota of their attention. Silence reigned for a few seconds before one dared to speak.

"Hermione Girard, my lord," Abraxas ventured hoarsely, and Lord Voldemort's eyes glinted coldly in the torchlight of the room.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. Now, I believe you can appreciate how that sets her apart. And that is merely _one_ of the secrets she holds. You can understand why this interests me. Furthermore, whatever I plan to do to or with Miss Girard is none of your business, now or ever. If any of you give any thought to this matter again, other than to carry out your duties as I have assigned them to you…well, let's just say that Mummy and Daddy will always wonder what happened to you, as there won't be enough left of you in the Forbidden Forest for identification. Have I made myself abjectly clear?"

"Yes, my lord!"

Tom's voice softened just a fraction, enough to let them take a collective breath of hope that he was through punishing them. "Remember, you are the beginning…the start of a new order, a reorganization of our society that will protect our world from the chaos that threatens through Muggles. A society that will reward those who are deserving, and remove those who are not."

There was a low murmur of approval, and Tom knew they had forgiven him for his harshness. They always did. They had seen how his power and influence only grew, and privately congratulated themselves on what it would mean for themselves in the future. Once he was unleashed on the wider wizarding community, they knew that all would know of him, and soon.

"Now, time to practice curses." He paused, could almost feel the collective shiver that ran through them. Usually they used each other to practice, but sometimes, on very rare occasions, he let them use golems instead. He wanted them to think that Hermione made him more charitable, thus they would want to protect her more. He paused, making them wait, then said, "Since you have been diligent in your task of protecting Miss Girard from undue influences, I think golems will function adequately today…"

The sense of relief was nearly palpable in equal measure to their fear. Never let it be said that he was not a merciful lord.

* * *

Hermione had a free hour Wednesday before dinner, and she was determined to speak to Dumbledore, who had been extremely difficult to find outside of the Transfiguration classroom. Christmas was approaching fast, and she figured she would remain at the school, but she needed to confirm his thoughts on the subject. Additionally, she was desperate to talk to him again about Tom Riddle. She knocked on his office door and breathed a sigh of relief when he called, "Enter!"

"Good afternoon, Professor," Hermione said, sitting down across from him as he indicated. The clutter of his office was familiar, and Hermione felt a bit better.

"What can I do for you, Miss Girard? I presume you haven't come simply to clarify what to do with yourself over the upcoming break."

His uncanny ability to read her thoughts had her reminding herself that he knew Legilimency, like another wizard she now knew. She flushed and began, "Well, sir, it's about Tom Riddle."

Professor Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. "Ah yes. I wondered when you would come to me about him, Hermione, after your experience in the DADA trials. He is a very dark young man, and he appears to have taken a fixed interest in you beyond what we had suspected. Pray tell, what have you done to discourage his attentions?"

Hermione's forehead wrinkled slightly under the blunt question. "I am at a loss to understand why he is still interested in me," she said.

"Yes, it is a bit of a mystery to me as well. According to Professor Slughorn and your own Head of House, Mr. Riddle seems to be expressing a romantic interest in you. Can you determine why that may be, Hermione?"

Hermione was startled a bit by the professor's interpretation of events. She knew he was thinking of the hug she had given the Head Boy after their DADA trial, and she felt she had to explain her actions somehow.

"Oh no, I assure you, that is _not_ his intention, Professor."

"Are you sure? Because in his nearly seven years at this school, I haven't seen Mr. Riddle date a single witch. Use them and discard them, yes, but doggedly pursue them, no. What I believe has happened is that Tom has realized that you are a very powerful witch, Hermione. I'm sure you've noticed that Tom likes to…acquire people. Allies, if you will, people whom he believes will give him influence and favors in the future. And he's set his sights on you as a witch he would like to have in his corner. He has decided that the best way to make that happen is to pursue you in the traditional fashion, hoping that your heart can be easily swayed by his attentions while he seeks to corrupt you."

Dumbledore waited to see the effects of his words. He had not been convinced that this was an adequate explanation for Tom's behavior, but Herbert was generally a good judge of such things, and he had a much more placid temperament when it came to Tom Riddle. The fact that Herbert had been willing to believe him when he had confided his suspicions about Tom and the Chamber of Secrets had cemented a deepening of their friendship which, Albus confessed, was helping him greatly as he saw what Gellert was degenerating to. Therefore, he felt he owed it to Herbert to give a bit more credence to the simplest explanation for Tom's baffling behavior.

"I am not so easily corrupted as that," Hermione protested, and Professor Dumbledore looked satisfied.

"I hoped not, but believe me, it is heady to receive the attentions of a powerful wizard."

Here Dumbledore paused, a flicker of sadness passing across his face. Hermione wanted so badly to tell him that she knew all about his relationship to Gellert Grindelwald, but she just couldn't do it. Her future headmaster looked drawn, almost haunted these days. It had to be a terrible thing he was facing, but she couldn't tell him she knew. It might be the single stone that set off the landslide, and she had to let things progress on their own.

Unaware of her internal struggles, Dumbledore continued, "I urge you to refrain from accepting Mr. Riddle's attentions. I understand that it will be difficult to continue to stonewall him, but that is what you must do until you graduate and can be safely off into the world, or, better still, back to your own timeline."

"How are your inquiries proceeding in that regard, sir?" Hermione asked, uncomfortable with all the talk about Tom Riddle's intentions. Far better to hope that he had some lead concerning how she could return to her own time.

"I'm afraid I have not received very favorable responses, and my research has uncovered only abstract concepts," Professor Dumbledore said, looking at her over the top of his glasses. "There is one avenue which I am reluctant to pursue, for fear that it will draw an undue amount of attention. But I am considering it."

Hermione decided to surreptitiously probe about Grindelwald, a sinking suspicion that it was he to whom Professor Dumbledore referred.

"Sir, some people have asked me about what happened to my parents. They are inferring that it was Grindelwald, that…that I witnessed an atrocious event of some kind. I'm afraid that this kind of talk has persisted despite my saying nothing about what happened to me. I would feel better if you could assure me that that wizard's aims don't reach into this country, sir."

Professor Dumbledore regarded her steadily, a troubled look entering his eye. "As far as I know, his aims do not extend to this island, no. However, I have little doubt that sooner or later, something must be done about him."

Hermione looked down at her hands. "Of course, Professor." She then looked up at him. "Since I am here, perhaps you could give me some direction as to how to handle inquiries about the Christmas break."

"I will be traveling away from Hogwarts at that time, Hermione, and I shall put it about that we have decided it is best for you to remain at the castle. The very rumors which you seek to squelch will make that plausible, I'm afraid. Now, was there anything else I can do for you?"

Hermione wildly wished that she could tell him; that she could behave as a child and ask for his pensieve, show him what Tom had already done, had already succeeded in wrangling from her…clues that had certainly whetted his appetite for more. But this was not the Dumbledore of her time. She didn't know this Dumbledore at all, hints of who he would become emerging only briefly before being shrouded in things that time and events had yet to burn away. It made her less easy with him, this man who hadn't yet confronted all of his own demons. How could she, in good conscience, ask him to now also wage war against her own?

"No, sir," Hermione said, standing from her chair. "Thank you for your time."

"Any day, Miss Girard."

As she left his office, Hermione thought that perhaps Professor Dumbledore's interpretation of romantic interest on the part of Tom Riddle was his manner of avoiding the issue. He certainly had enough other things on his plate. Hermione sighed as her feet hit the stone stairs up to Ravenclaw Tower. She was still on her own in her private battle of wits with Tom.

* * *

Hermione had discovered a happy tradition existed during the '40s which had somehow vanished during her time—the elves would put out assorted snacks at about 3 pm during the weekends, which made for a nice break from studying if you were doing that over the weekend instead of goofing off all day. A nice cup of tea and a mince pie were an earned treat after successfully finishing her first term paper for Magical Theory. She had refused to let Tom Riddle read it, certain he would just punch holes in her essay about the rights of magical creatures.

"Hey!"

Hermione looked up from her table in the Great Hall to find Herecles Potter waiting, looking thoroughly windblown. She couldn't help the smile that crept unbidden onto her face.

"What's up?" she asked, feeling somewhat relaxed as the Great Hall was nearly empty at this time of day.

"The snow has stopped long enough that a few of us are getting a snowball fight together. Want to be on my team?" Herecles' grin was easy and unaffected, some snowflakes clinging to his hair. Hermione looked around the hall again and contemplated whether it was worth it. She caught herself mid-thought and stood. _I'll be damned if Tom Riddle will dictate my participation in a snowball fight as if it were the deciding battle in a war._

"Of course I will!" Hermione picked up her scarf and coat. She had hoped to at least get some fresh air in the courtyard, but a snowball fight sounded much better.

The teams were mixed, all Houses represented, although the Slytherins involved were considerably younger. A couple of impressive snow forts had been hastily constructed, and Hermione spent a happy hour dashing through the snow, forgetting to renew her impervious charms toward the end as she was laughing too hard at the sight of Augusta Donaghy charming a snowball to slither down the Hufflepuff prefect's neck.

"Over there! Charge!" Herecles cried, spotting a weakness in the opposing team's fort. Hermione scrambled madly, noticed Olivia keeping pace behind her as a group of them charged forward, dodging the onslaught of the defenders' snowballs. There was a crazy mix of wandwork and hand tossing going on, and Hermione laughed when one of her snowballs was deflected by Phineas from the defending fort, a manic gleam in his eye as he sent it hurtling toward Herecles.

"Through th—" Herecles got a mouthful of the snowball, and Hermione doubled over with laughter, causing Herecles to stalk over to her and toss her bodily into a snowdrift. She was still laughing as she rolled herself over and got up again, brushing snow from herself with good-natured grace.

"Oi! There's a war going on here! Now's not the time to laugh at your commander mid-battle!" Herecles huffed, then turned to see if they were making a dent on the opposing team's snow fort. "Keep going!" he yelled, then picked up another clump of snow and hastily lobbed it. "The corner is crumbling!"

He missed the twinge of pain that crossed Hermione's face at his war comment. Suddenly, she didn't feel like a snowball fight any longer. She made her way out of the melee, intent on heading back indoors.

"Had enough? I wouldn't have thought you to be the type to give up in the middle of a war, Hermione."

Tom's voice was full of innuendo, but of course only Hermione would understand that, despite the other students who were strolling about, casually taking note of their interaction. Hermione hesitated briefly, then decided it was best to talk to him outside, where at least there were plenty of other people milling around. She turned slowly to face Tom Riddle as he peeled himself away from a column in the courtyard, having had the perfect vantage point over the snowball fight that still raged down the hill.

"It was just for fun. It isn't like it means anything, whoever wins or loses. We were all just having fun." She didn't take her eyes off him as he circled her, idly appraising the state of her as if he were distressed.

"You didn't keep up your impervious charms well enough—I'm sure your boots are soaked through, and you've a wet patch here." He pressed the icy cold, sodden material at the back of her coat into her, causing her to gasp and twist away from him.

"Yes, thank you, I know!" she said in a clipped tone. "Was there anything in particular you wanted, or did you just want to harass me in the cold because you can?"

Tom ignored her glacial tone of voice. She was like a spitting cat when she was getting riled, and he found it quite amusing. However, she did remind him that he had a point in all of this. "I believe I warned you about your…friends. I noticed Mr. Potter was making rather free with your person. I do hope he isn't laboring under the mistaken impression that you are unattached."

"I've told you before: you have no claim over me, Tom Riddle. Don't think because you have been partnered with me in so many classes that it entitles you to a say in what I do in my free time, or who I spend it with."

Tom moved closer, the wind seeming to pick up in tandem with his increasing temper. When he spoke, his voice was low and still mellifluous, the acid content enough to convey his meaning. "I regret that you are so callous in disregarding others, Hermione. Although perhaps this is just another indicator of why I'm so drawn to you?"

Hermione wanted to slap him for his inference, but she knew it would be more than unwise. She was nothing like him. Instead, she cut him dead, turning around and walking off without a word. Tom watched her go, a dark expression on his face.

"Rosier?"

"Yes, my lord?" Evan had not been close enough to hear the exchange between Lord Voldemort and Miss Girard, but he knew a black mood when he saw one.

"Tell Mr. MacNair that the newest spell in his arsenal will find a ready home in Mr. Potter's broom."

"Immediately," Rosier replied.

"And send Malfoy to me. Now."

Nodding briefly, Rosier hurried off. He had no idea what MacNair had been working on, but he doubted it was anything as innocuous as a Christmas charm.

* * *

Hermione and Tom were now working on their second partner potion, and in DADA Merrythought had made them duel in front of the class. Now that the cat was out of the bag regarding her dueling, she was not able to pull back. In fact, Tom demanded even more of her than Merrythought, taking it upon himself to correct her technique quietly during practice sessions in class. He also began not so subtly leaving books on darker hexes for her to read when he 'happened' to pop by her table in the library. If he had thought she would comply, he would have suggested one on one tutoring sessions, but he knew she was still stubbornly clinging to her belief that she could keep him at arm's length. Since it suited his purposes to let her think so, he kept his contact with her light and casual. Soon enough she would realize he was after more.

"He is so sweet on you," Olivia whispered to Hermione when Tom dropped yet another book beside her on his way out of the library to do rounds. The library was packed with students as the weather was so foul that all Quidditch had been canceled for two weeks' running, and everyone was going a bit stir crazy inside the castle.

"There is nothing 'sweet' about Thomas Riddle," Hermione replied tartly, and Olivia poo-pooed her.

"Please, he is head over heels for you. He has _never_ taken such an interest in a girl before, ever. If it were anyone else, I don't doubt that you would have been hexed or poisoned by half the female population of Hogwarts. As it is, everyone is too afraid to try anything, between Tom himself and his Slytherin friends."

That caused Hermione's head to come up. "What?" she said, her tone sharp.

Sophie raised an eyebrow as she scribbled on her parchment. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed your little bodyguards," she said quietly, nodding her head subtly toward the opposite study area, where Evan Rosier was lounging, chatting with a fifth year Slytherin. "Or did you think Rosier, or Malfoy, or Gibbon, or MacNair, really just _happen_ to be around whenever Tom isn't?"

Hermione's blood ran cold as she thought about what her roommates were saying. "No, that's ridiculous. It's just a small seventh year…I'd run into them all the time regardless, with all the classes we have together."

Olivia rolled her eyes. "Uh huh. Because it's purely coincidental that no one from any other house, other than Herecles Potter, is brave enough to talk to you. Even OUR House prefects are treating you deferentially…what does that tell you, or are you emotionally more suited to Hufflepuff?"

Hermione's breath hissed inward, and her other roommate finally lifted her head from her Transfiguration essay to fix Hermione with a knowing look. "I told you, Hermione. Tom Riddle is _interested_ in you—and he's warned off everyone else. He's going to either get into your knickers or get a ring on your finger by graduation, mark my words."

Olivia gasped at that, but Sophie just looked coolly at Hermione, who blushed and then blanched at the implications of what Sophie had said. "No…that can't possibly be his aim—"

Sophie was bluntly appraising. "You're the _only_ witch he's ever actually courted. The others were Slytherin tramps and he has _rarely_ taken whatever they offered. He's taking you to the Slug Club Christmas party…and I'm betting he's got a proper courtship gift planned for you for Christmas. If there were bets being placed, I'd say he's going to marry you, Hermione Girard."

Hermione felt panic whirling through her, had to force her breathing to remain normal, to not hyperventilate. "You're wrong," she said, but her roommates just looked at her. "We're still so young…he's, what, eighteen? Who is thinking about _marriage_…"

"Everyone."

"Excuse me," Hermione said, grabbing her papers and stuffing them haphazardly into her bookbag, then leaving. She needed some air, snow or not. Impossible, that's what it was, impossible! Just all of them falling for Tom's clever front, falling under the impressions he wanted to project like they always did. It simply gave him freedom to operate with her, to work on her without any suspicion. That's all it was, she was sure of it.


	14. A Christmas Party

**Good evening. Nothing says professorial procrastination like writing, and you were all so kind in your reviews. Relatela, leave it to you to be thinking ahead to the Christmas break! We shall see! **

**Do let me know what you think. It's a bit longer because there is a lot to be gleaned from Slughorn's little party... ;)**

* * *

A week later as Hermione was getting dressed for Slughorn's Christmas party, her roommates' assertions played on an endless loop in her head. _Shake it off, Hermione. You have an evening with Lord Voldemort to get through_. When she came out of the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror, though, Hermione wondered if she would be able to do this. Sophie fussed over her hair, securing a curl that threatened to escape the half she had pinned up, and she had to threaten Olivia with a hex to keep her from changing her make-up. She had a glamour quite firmly fixed over her scar on her forearm, and she hoped that wearing a dress with three quarter sleeves wasn't a mistake. Lots of girls used glamours over small imperfections, so it wasn't like it was suspicious. She didn't have time to fret about it, however, because Sophie cried, "It's time! Tom is here!"

Olivia and Sophie's excited chatter and exclamations over the dress became bothersome noise when they accompanied her down the stairs to the Ravenclaw common room, where Tom was waiting in a very elegant set of dress robes, looking supremely handsome and cool as usual. When he looked at her and met her eyes, however, for the first time she saw something that made her hot and cold all at once—Tom Riddle was looking at her with lust. The nascent Lord Voldemort was attracted to her.

"You look stunning," Tom said, kissing her hand politely before tucking her arm into his own. Had his lips lingered a second longer than necessary? Hermione wasn't sure. She felt butterflies in her stomach still from the way he had looked at her.

"You look wonderful together!" Olivia gushed, and Hermione noticed that they were attracting interested stares from the mixed populace of the common room.

"Let's go," she said to Tom, and he was only too ready to remove them from her housemates' scrutiny.

"Is that the dress you purchased in Hogsmeade in September?" Tom inquired politely as he tucked her arm in his.

"Yes, it is. I'm surprised you remember it," Hermione said, uncertain whether she should be complimented or terrified by this new twist to the Dark Lord's interest in her. Probably both, she decided.

"I remember everything about you, Hermione," he said, and for the first time she realized he truly meant it, it wasn't just some empty compliment to try and flatter her.

_Terrified. Definitely terrified_. She was able to breathe a little easier as they joined a small trickle of other couples heading toward Slughorn's party.

"Here we are," Tom said, nodding to the hapless fifth year Slytherin prefect who had been pressed into service by Slughorn as a butler of sorts, vetting the entrants to his little party.

"It's beautiful," Hermione said as they walked into the lavishly decorated room. Christmas trees bedecked with jeweled birds and all sorts of creatures frolicking in their branches were being lightly dusted with magical snow that melted before it hit the floor. A giant ice sculpture of a swan rested on the drinks table, occasionally preening its feathers and causing a spray of frost to sprinkle over the table. Charmed fountains poured champagne punch and fizzy juices, and the students dressed in their holiday best mingled around the room, adding another layer of colour and scent.

"It's good charm work," Tom said, aware of a few envious looks thrown at Hermione from a few jealous girls as his eyes scanned the room. "You are the loveliest witch here. I do not understand why some women cannot ascertain the best colors for their skin tone."

"Thank you," Hermione said, suddenly nervous. He had never complimented her appearance before, and he had done so twice already tonight. Tom could feel it in the way her fingers clenched just briefly on his forearm, and inwardly he smiled to himself. So she was aware that he was physically interested in her at last. Excellent.

"Well, well, well!" Slughorn was moving purposefully toward them, his booming voice drawing even more attention in their direction than had previously been theirs. "You two look remarkable together! Yes, quite the power couple! I'm delighted to see you here together, good work Tom, eh? Snatch up the cleverest witch, good thinking my boy!"

"I thought so sir," Tom replied modestly, stealing a glance at Hermione. "And the most beautiful, too."

"Now I know you're lying," Hermione interjected, incredulous about his behavior and cursing herself for being tempted by such superbly delivered lies.

"Nonsense, Miss Girard! And quite clever of you to snag Mr. Riddle here! Yes, many girls have set their cap at him, but I'd say he was waiting for a worthy match, hmm? Well, I have to go greet other guests, but do enjoy the party—I have a few guests to introduce to you two later, so don't sneak off too early!" He wagged a finger at Tom in a knowing manner, and Hermione mentally cringed at the implicit permission Slughorn was giving Tom to find a deserted classroom and paw her later. Ugh!

"Would you like an appetizer, or would you prefer to socialize for a bit?" He was watching her, and surely his keen dark eyes were missing nothing.

Hermione couldn't have eaten anything at that moment if she tried, so she said, "Chat," and allowed Tom to lead her to Abraxas Malfoy, who had brought a witch other than Druella as his date, she noticed.

"Allow me to introduce my date, Miss Eugenia Pimsfolme," Abraxas said, and the elegant blonde accepted Tom's perfunctory kiss and politely nodded to Hermione. The resemblance to Lucius was keen, especially the nose—or, rather, Lucius bore a resemblance to this woman, who was surely going to be his mother.

_Bingo_, Hermione thought to herself. Tom didn't miss the tiny upturn at the corner of her mouth, and he shot her a knowing look. _Damn it, he is too perceptive_, and Hermione found herself once again off balance.

"This is Miss Hermione Girard," Tom said smoothly, and Hermione nodded in turn to the witch, a Hufflepuff whom she hadn't seen before. They conversed politely about trivial subjects until Abraxas drifted away with the icy blonde on his arm, leaving Tom and Hermione alone again. Hermione darted a glance at Phineas and Augusta, but she could tell that Tom had no intention of letting her near her housemates. Herecles was probably here somewhere too, but that was one meeting she was keen to avoid. She didn't need to bring more of Tom's attention to Herecles' desire to be a buffer between herself and Tom.

"That was quite an interesting essay about the rights of magical creatures, Hermione," Tom remarked just as Hermione took a sip of her mulled wine. She nearly spat it out in shock, which was doubtless what he had intended.

"How have you seen my paper?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, as it happened I wrote my essay on the same subject. Professor Cavallo thought I would be interested in some of your points, so he allowed me to read it."

Hermione tilted her head to the side and studied him with more than a degree of caution. "And do you suppose he will let me read _your _essay in turn? _Quid pro quo_, you know."

"_I_ would be more than happy for you to read my essay, Hermione," he said smoothly. "I am largely in agreement with you, as it happens. I, too, think it is disgraceful how other magical beings are treated by the Ministry. It is an injustice of the highest order that magical beings such as goblins and werewolves are forbidden from doing certain kinds of magic, or condemned to the outskirts of our society. Rather smacks of hypocrisy, wouldn't you say?"

Hermione's mind was tumbling over itself. Of course he had actively recruited other magical species, but she had not considered that this approach may have sprung from a similar point of view. In his case, she doubted he was motivated by altruism, merely the idea of exploiting another societal weakness to his own ends. Still, it troubled her that her mind could in any way think of something along a similar vein as Lord Voldemort. Thus, she was exceptionally cautious in her reply.

"I think there is a better place for them in the magical community, certainly. There are certain prejudices which are unfairly applied to many in the magical community to preserve the status quo, including that of Muggle-born witches and wizards."

Tom's reply was cool even if he did arch a brow at that. "Perhaps so." _Such a spitfire…delightful_.

It was then that dinner was served, at which time Hermione realized that Slughorn had placecards set out, and had allocated the tables quite precisely. Hermione and Tom were at the same table as Slughorn, naturally, along with some important guests that he wanted Tom specifically to meet. Being the dutiful Head Boy, Tom promptly engaged the wizards in conversation, leaving Hermione to fend for herself with the dinnertime conversations.

Hermione found it easy to talk to the other witch at the table, a Healer from St. Mungo's by the name of Miriam Strout. She was relatively young, but had already risen through the ranks at the hospital, proving that Slughorn had a good eye for talent. Tom spent most of the meal talking to a senior wizard from the Ministry, as well as a wizard from a large book publisher. As was typical for the era, the invited wizards mostly ignored her, but Tom drew her into their conversations once or twice. Inevitably the conversation drifted back, but this was not disappointing to Hermione. She found Miriam to be even more interesting when she discussed her interest in long term spell damage and novel methods for attempting to reverse it.

"So have you found that a combined potions/spells approach is beneficial?" Hermione asked, and she knew Tom was listening in during a lull in his conversations with the other wizards, Slughorn feeling it necessary to monopolize the conversation occasionally.

"Yes, it is quite promising. Of course there is quite a bit more work in ascertaining whether elements of the spell or potion will work against one another, but with a strong enough background in both subjects and magical theory it becomes quite beautiful magic." The witch smiled at Hermione, then added, "Have you considered what you want to do when you graduate, Miss Girard? You seem to have an alacrity for several subjects."

"I have not considered it fully, but I am interested in Potions, and Healing, and possibly Spellmaking. I might pursue a mastery in one of those subjects," Hermione said truthfully. She had only occasionally thought about what she would do for a career, but now it was completely muddy. Even if she was here long enough to complete her seventh year, what would her NEWTs say? Member of the class of 1945? And that was assuming that the man beside her didn't get his way and impose the exile of Muggleborns or worse. The outcome of the final battle had _seemed _good, but then everything had gone dark and she couldn't be sure what happened. It was just another dark question mark over her future.

"Yes, very wise," Miriam remarked. "It takes time to find your feet after you graduate. Too many witches rush to get married these days, and they could be quite productive in a career first."

"How do you feel about the current practices which restrict what a married witch may do, career-wise?" Tom interjected, his tone politely interested. His expression and eyes were a mask, and Hermione had no idea what he was getting at, bumping into the conversation.

"It's unfortunate that old prejudices persist, but a married witch is less likely to be promoted, and certainly our society expects her to raise her children," Miriam said matter of factly, then addressed Hermione, "But not to worry, dear, career hiatuses to see one's children off to Hogwarts are not uncommon in some fields. I daresay within the next fifty years they will not even be frowned upon!"

Hermione bit back her instinctive response to this type of inequity and made herself murmur politely, "Of course." Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw Tom's mouth turn up minutely at the corner for a brief moment, but when she turned her head to look at him he had picked up his wineglass to finish off the last of it with an elegant flourish.

She was relieved that the dinner was over and the guests were free to once again mingle, dessert being a buffet style assortment of small bites. The Healer excused herself and Hermione sought refuge at the drinks table, leaving Tom to fend for himself as the wizard to his left once again engaged him in conversation at the dinner table. She felt terribly uncertain of herself. Up to this point the evening had been very pleasant. Her eyes flicked to Tom, who met her gaze briefly before returning his attention politely to the older wizard next to him. If she hadn't brought a whole history of a bitter, dirty war instigated by the man that boy was becoming, she would have put it as one of the most pleasant dates she'd ever had. And this jarring dichotomy was driving her mad—how could she even enjoy his company at all? And yet sometimes she did! She knew it was so wrong, and at that moment it seemed that the only answer was to run away, just get away from him for good and forget about trying to go back home.

"Having a good time?" Tom asked quietly in her ear, his proximity setting off all kinds of alarms.

"Of course," Hermione replied automatically, setting down her cup of coffee with what she hoped was a casual manner to disguise the sudden sense of impending disaster from how closely he stood behind her.

"I rather got the impression that you were not," Tom said, slipping her hand easily into his own as he caught sight of Herecles Potter attempting to make his way over to them, and being obstructed in that quest by Abraxas. "We could leave if you like."

Hermione's pulse skyrocketed, a flush suffusing her cheeks. "No, I'm fine—"

"What is this?" Tom asked, his fingers skipping up her forearm. "You have a glamour on here—why?"

"It's nothing," she said, trying, but failing, to keep a hint of defensiveness out of her voice.

Tom's voice deepened knowingly. "Oh, I think not, Hermione. Come."

There was nothing she could do without making a scene, and even that would doubtless fall in his favor. His grip on her hand was tight, and Hermione found herself saying good evening to Slughorn near the door, her professor giving them a knowing wink. God, it was mortifying! Tom pulled her along surely, the destination he had in mind nearby but quite well concealed, so even if that nuisance Potter pursued them, he would not be able to find them.

"Here we are," he said, pulling her through a passageway that gave out close to the Heads quarters. It would be deserted at this time of night, and it gave him options for the conclusion of their date.

"Where are we?" Hermione asked, resolved not to be afraid. He hadn't cursed her the last time they were alone together. The rational part of her brain said that wasn't the only way he could hurt her, but that just made her pulse jump crazily.

"Near the Heads' quarters," Tom said. "We won't be disturbed here…now, about that glamour, Hermione—" he grabbed her arm so quickly that she flinched, then tried to pull away from him. It was too late, however, his murmured "_Revelio_" showing the ugly word marring her skin. He looked at it closely, tracing a fingertip over one of the letters, the gentleness of his touch stunning her into silence, inaction. Finally he raised his head to look at her, his eyes blazing with a myriad of emotions, including cool calculation.

"How did you get this?"

"You don't need to know that," Hermione began, but she felt his magic swell, the air around them becoming ink black, magic swirling through her hair, practically climbing up her nostrils.

"How?" he insisted. "Tell me or I will find out myself, Occlumency or not."

"Please, Tom," Hermione said, tears welling up suddenly in her eyes. "I can't tell you."

"You WON'T tell me," he said, placing his other hand at her elbow and stroking his fingers down, gently but insistently. "But that is not necessary—because Dark magic speaks to itself, Hermione. Watch and learn."

His tone was intent, and Hermione felt his magic shift, probing and pushing at the scars on her arm. The scars began to heat up, and Hermione tried to wrench her arm away from him, but he was relentless.

"Don't," he said warningly, his eyes darting up to hers, then flicking back to the scars, his fingers moving swiftly now, pushing around the residual magic there, wordlessly casting a cooling charm on her skin before it began to blister. "It was a woman…a bit unhinged…skilled with Dark magic…she was questioning you about something."

"No!" Hermione cried, making a final attempt to wrench her arm away, but Tom was prepared for that, held tight as his fingers pulled the ebbs of Dark magic forth. "Her name was—Bellatrix Lestrange."

He let her pull her arm away, watched her carefully as she turned away from him, her arms clasped around her waist. "Who was she?"

"It doesn't matter. She's dead now," Hermione said, her voice clear and strong. She was proud of that, that she could remember that day, those hours, and not crumple, even in front of the man who had directly caused it.

"I could heal that," Tom said, from close behind her, too close.

"No," Hermione said sharply, turning her head to the side quickly. "It's a good reminder. A reminder that only fools think blood status matters more than magical ability. She's dead and I'm not."

The words were out of her mouth before she could edit them, think about who she was talking to. But she couldn't regret them, their bitter truth needing to be heard.

Tom was struck by the vehemence of her words. If he didn't know that he had sent her back himself, he would have been furious, a curse the requisite response. But if he was correct, this witch was a failsafe, designed to make him rethink at least one key thing. Perhaps this was it. On the one hand, it angered him, the antithesis of everything he was convinced of concerning the distinctions between Muggle and wizarding society. He had suspected her to be a mudblood, and here was the proof.

On the other hand, he _knew_ she was from the future, a future where this skilled Dark witch had met her end, and this mudblood Muggleborn had not. Hermione had just drawn the distinction with a sharp knife edge, and he would be a fool to not pay attention no matter his natural inclinations. He decided to probe her further.

"And would you toss out centuries of wizarding tradition? Tradition which has protected the wizarding world from the Muggle one, which is even now enmired in a conflict designed to destroy as much as possible without regard to the future?" Tom's voice was even, almost deadpan, but he deeply wanted to hear what she had to say.

Hermione considered her answer. At this point she was as confident as she ever could be that he wasn't going to curse her now, his aims softer but no less devastating. Maybe he needed this, to hear a viewpoint contrary to his own coming from someone who was a peer and not an authority figure attempting to impose it on him. Her own position could not be much worse, and perhaps it would make him angry enough to forget about whatever plans he had for her, to move away from what increasingly seemed like extremely acquisitive behaviors…or to quit playing with her and dispose of her.

"Of course not," Hermione said over her shoulder. "But neither should wizarding society ignore the value of fresh blood, bringing new life to the magical community, keeping it from withering and dying. Weakness is produced from inbreeding, from not valuing or protecting the right things. Look at the hidden Squibs of pureblood families, if you dare."

"The pureblood families don't have so many Squibs that they hide them," Tom scoffed, then tilted his head, studying her. "It's more likely that mudbloods steal magic from those poor purebloods."

She turned at this, suddenly incensed at this wizard, this _man_, who caused so much suffering because of a racist and outdated ideology. Her tone was bitter and vehement, the suffering she'd been through pouring out uncontrollably from her mouth.

"You've said it yourself—magic is magic, Tom. How the hell would you think a baby could _steal_ magic from a pureblood? Hasn't it occurred to you that it's a trait, like hair color or eye color? One which rolls around in our DNA, expressing itself even occasionally in non-magical families? I know you're not that thick to seriously believe that!"

He did get angry at this, his magic buffeting against hers like an angry sea. He pressed her against the wall, hard, his angry expression matching the way his magic was attacking hers. Hermione held firm, however, her natural gift of stability balancing her magic and her body against his unspoken assault.

"What the hell would you know about it, Hermione? You're just a mudblood, a piece of filth like the rest of them."

"If you really thought that you wouldn't be interested in me!" she tossed back. "You know I am a better witch than most purebloods at this school, or anywhere! I don't fit your narrow worldview, and it drives you crazy. Well maybe, Tom Riddle, you are _wrong_. You should be judging on the basis of _talent_, not a family history, however rich, which can be rendered worthless by incompetence and sheer lack of ability!"

His eyes were narrowed and the magic roiling the air around them both was by no means peaceable or quiet. Hermione pushed back with her own magic when his sought to punish, intrude, conquer. She was smart enough to know she could never overcome him if she tried to attack, but she would defend herself against his intrusion. It was a wandless, wordless struggle, his hands firm on her arms, her own clenched tightly on his forearms. Again Tom was faced with a choice: he could win, but at the risk of damaging her.

"You're so stubborn!" Tom said with a hiss of irritation, suddenly breaking free from her and turning away in the tight corridor. Hermione kept her Occlumency up, keeping herself centered in case he turned back to attack again. Tom forced himself to calm down. He wasn't used to people not submitting to his will, his authority.

"So you're saying power should come before blood in the wizarding world."

He forced himself to say it slowly, rolling the idea around in his mind, forcing his natural anger back to try and at least consider the idea. _What the hell does she know, anyway? She has no idea what my life has been like, how Muggles have treated me my whole life! They are dirt, not even worth considering, and here she is, saying that those born of them are worthy of my time!_ Yet he could not reconcile that notion with _her_. She was fascinating, and she was a fucking mudblood!

Hermione heard the anger that he was working hard to suppress in his voice, and it tempered her own more quickly than anything else could have done. She couldn't let the subject drop, it was too important; but her tone was more even when she answered him, her words more carefully considered.

"Why does it even matter? You're either magical or you're not. You're a part of one world or the other. The difficulty lies in integrating Muggleborns into the wizarding world earlier, not in their very existence."

Her words hung in the air in the potent silence that fell between them. Hermione wasn't sure what he was going to do, but she had made her stand and she wasn't going to retreat from it.

He turned away from her, lost in his thoughts, so Hermione held her breath and started inching away. She watched him the way you'd watch a panther about to spring, sure that she wouldn't escape his anger unless she tried to leave now. Perhaps he was distracted enough that she could retreat from the field of battle unscathed. She had moved a full ten feet away now, inching backward, and still he had yet to notice her departure.

Several streams of thought were now running through Tom's mind, but he needed to think again about what she had said, what the scar revealed about her. She was a fighter, clearly—here was more evidence, as if he had needed it. And she was brave, almost to the point of foolhardiness. No one else would _dare_ to say anything like that to him, and even though he had never discussed his beliefs with her, it was laughable to think she didn't know what his views were. The fact that she still spoke her mind and disagreed with him was incredible. He was not suffering from any sort of delusion that he would weaken in power in the future, so she must know what he was like! And still she dared!

Tom forced his mind to move past that point of incredulity and get back to the practicalities of the situation. He had time with this witch. Most crucial at the present moment was the fact that the presence of someone else's Dark Magic in her was going to interfere with his plans. Therefore, he had to remove it with or without her consent. The rest he could consider in private, and plan his next moves. He turned to see that she was quietly but quickly walking away, nearly to the mouth of the passageway that doubtless she thought represented her freedom. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly as he silently came up behind her. Foolish girl…they weren't finished yet.

"Hermione," Tom said, his breath feathering warmly against her ear as his hand slipped around her waist, pulling her back against him. Hermione felt her heart rate speed up, and she could almost see his smirk against her neck, his fingers spreading out in a possessive manner she did not like at all. She had been prepared for his anger, for another battle, but she hadn't expected this forceful intimacy, and it scared her more than his magical intrusions.

"Let go of me Tom," Hermione said, hating the breathlessness of her tone, the way her heart was pounding scandalously from his closeness. Tom pressed a kiss on her neck, his hand warm on her waist.

"No."

"I am not your plaything," Hermione said insistently, trying to ignore the feathers of sensation spreading from where his lips caressed her flesh. She hated him for doing it to her, and hated herself for responding to his charm, even knowing what he was.

"I agree; you are so much more than a plaything, Hermione," Tom breathed into her ear before he nipped and sucked on her earlobe. "You are a lovely, desirable witch; and I will never, ever let you go."

"Someone could come along," Hermione said, trying to think of a reason to get away from him, to get out of this crazy situation. She tried to pull them both forward, but he was immovable. It was bad enough that he was so fixated on her, and she suspected he knew she was a time traveler—but now he was taking his interest to a different level.

"I can fix that," Tom said, shuffling her forward into an alcove behind a suit of armor. She felt the flicker of magic as he cast a silencing spell and disillusionment spell on the alcove, then he turned her around to face him, his hands holding her firm at the waist. "That's better."

"What makes you think I'm going to—" Hermione couldn't even bring herself to say _snog you_, "—go along with this?"

Tom tipped her chin up so she had to look at him in the dim light filtering into the alcove, then he dipped his head to kiss her throat. "Because your heart and your magic race when I do this, and this," he whispered, kissing beneath her ear and along her jaw. "Despite your doubts, despite whatever you think you know of me, you're attracted to me."

Hermione pushed ineffectively on his chest with both hands, a reflection of the turmoil between her brain and her traitorous heart, which was indeed racing, her senses swimming from the smell of him, the feel of him.

"I am not," she protested feebly. Her mind screamed, _This is Lord Voldemort! The darkest wizard of the millennium! Get away from him, whatever it takes!_ while her treacherous heart said, _Not yet, he's still just a boy in some ways, you should encourage those boyish feelings while he still has them_—_it might make a difference._ "How could I be attracted to an arrogant, rude—"

"Liar," Tom said softly against her lips before he kissed her, his lips moving cleverly on hers, softly insistent and as smoothly persuasive as the wizard himself.

Hermione was incredulous at first, then her mind automatically compared the kiss to others she had had, and she admitted Tom's kiss was quite different from anyone else's…and suddenly her lips softened, moving just a bit, echoing his coaxing caresses, until it didn't matter anymore that this was _Tom Riddle_ and it only mattered that a wickedly clever and handsome boy was snogging her senseless. His hands pulled her closer at the waist as her own hands relaxed, holding onto his robes on his chest as his mouth persuaded hers to open and his tongue swept in to conquer and set flame to her senses.

As soon as she started participating in the kiss, Tom swept his hands up her arms and focused his magic on the pulled flesh, his fingertips calling forth and singeing the Dark Magic exuding from the lines, shredding it as easily as he was shredding her self-control. He didn't try to remove the marks today, but they would heal completely now. He was exulting in his success, the taste of Hermione's mouth made all the sweeter by the fact that he was manipulating her and she couldn't resist him.

Still, he was unprepared for the visceral response of his body when her tongue stroked his and her hands crept up around his neck, her fingers playing with his hair at the back of his head. He had always exerted the utmost control over his body, even spurning meaningless kisses from the idiotic girls he had sweet-talked into sex because he occasionally gave in to his hormonal urges, a fact he lamented and was sure he would outgrow. None of them _meant_ anything to him, just a willing body to use and discard. This, however, felt different, the layers of importance attached to this girl, the perfect way her magic met his unyieldingly…it was shading his physical responses in a way he'd never experienced before.

It was this uneasy realization that made Tom break off the kiss, listening to Hermione's rushed breathing as he tried to calm his own racing heartbeat. His hands had shifted to her hips, the feel of them pulled tight against his body deliciously appetizing. His body was keen to claim her sexually, to have her body writhing under his, completely at his mercy. This meant that he would not do so now, of course. He had to think about his response, his own breathing appearing far steadier than he truly felt.

Hermione could not believe she had let things go as far as they had, her hands slipping away from Tom's neck with shame. He hadn't let her go, so her hands rested on his chest while she tried to regain control of her breath and her raging senses. Her cheeks flushed hot as she thought about the comparison she had drawn between Tom and Ron. She tried to push him away at that, but he wordlessly tightened his hold on her hips, and she stilled, like prey in a snake's coils. He dropped his head, almost pressing his lips on her hair in a kiss, but of course Tom Riddle would never be that tender.

"I'll take you back to Ravenclaw Tower," he whispered against her hair, but before he let her go, he added, "This is far from over, Hermione."

Hermione's mind was whirling. She hadn't just done that, had she? Insulted his beliefs? Let him snog her senseless? Snogged him _back_? Hermione was horrified with herself, reached for her wand but realized he hadn't cast any spells on her. He had seduced her with his words alone, and that fact made her tremble. She let him take her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers in a new portent of where they had climbed in their unfolding, twisted relationship.

"I don't want to see you again," she whispered at the door knocker. "Please."

Tom recognized the panicked retreat for what it was. "And yet, you will. Good night Hermione. You remain the most fascinating witch of my acquaintance—and I assure you, that is a high compliment."

Both of them looked down the hall, where Phineas Longbottom was making his way back from the party. He spotted them and called out, "Oh, Hermione! Brilliant party, wasn't it?"

Casting one final glance at Tom's knowing eyes, Hermione fled through the door to the common room, the knocker having a personal policy of not interrogating crying witches.

"Why did she run away like that?" Phineas asked absentmindedly, then blanched as he realized who he was talking to.

"She is tired." Tom didn't say anything else, merely walked off toward his own rooms to ponder the evening's turn of events.

"Well then," Phineas said, answering the door knocker's riddle easily. "S'pose I shall take myself off to bed!" He never noticed the disillusioned witch crying in the corner of the common room.


	15. Watch Me Burn

**Good evening wonderful readers. I had not intended to leave you waiting so long for this next chapter, but real life and adulthood are sometimes awfully demanding and this past week and a bit has been all that and more. Suffice it to say that a hospital and major surgery were involved for a close family member, and that plus the end of term stressed me out enough that I really could not focus on writing or editing at all. Everyone is doing well now, thank God, but it was one of those things that are not included in the brochure of adulthood, if you know what I mean! You know we are all so excited to grow up, and the longer I'm an adult the more I think, "this isn't all as it was advertised", hehe. **

**Well I don't want to keep you waiting any longer. Relatela, thanks for the awesome review. I've sent PMs to the rest of you. One further note: the historical reference is accurate, and dates to 1940. It always struck me as an interesting real detail that had some fascinating implications for the world of Tom Riddle. As always, thank you to JKR for the wonderful Harry Potter universe. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

"What are you going to buy for Tom?" Sophie asked loftily as they browsed through Flourish & Botts in Diagon Alley. It was the day before the term ended for Christmas holidays, and in resignation of the students' complete inattention, the professors had completed term exams early and allowed the final day for the seventh years' trip to Diagon Alley and general merriment among the younger classes.

"I'm not sure," Hermione hedged. There was nothing here that was appropriate for him, that was for sure. He would probably like a dark book from that bookshop in Hogsmeade, but Hermione had no intention of buying him anything like that. She was still of two minds as to whether she was going to buy him anything at all, frankly. She felt like she was being consumed by Tom Riddle, and it was making her consider increasingly desperate ideas, including but not limited to running away. She had discarded it instantly as impractical and impossible to carry out, but Tom had not let up on his attentions. She saw him daily now outside of classes, his presence enough to deter most from even speaking to her.

"What do you suppose he's getting you?" Olivia asked, sending a book she was purchasing for her father to the counter.

"I don't expect him to get me anything," Hermione said honestly, sliding a book back into place on the shelf.

"You're his _girlfriend_. Of course he's going to get you something," Sophie said.

"Maybe," she said, ignoring the chatter of her roommates as they exited the store into the winter cold.

Hermione had stopped denying that she was Tom's girlfriend after that heated snog session following Slughorn's Christmas party. It seemed rather pointless, although she had resolved never to let it happen again. He infringed too much on her thoughts, her mind alternating between fear of what he actually knew about her and surprise that he was (apparently) interested in her. She felt like a mouse being toyed with at times, but then there were flashes of humanity still in him and Hermione did not know what to make of that. It was much simpler when he was a clear-cut enemy, when he wasn't someone who defended her from a troll or gave her teasing pointers about magical theory and spell casting, or argued with her as if he was actually taking in what she was saying. _Or kissed like a rake out of a romance novel_.

"Let's go down Knockturn Alley. There are some more interesting shops down there," Sophie suggested. Hermione didn't know how to respond—did Knockturn not have its dire reputation in this era, or was Sophie being indiscreet? She shot a look at Olivia, who seemed torn about the idea.

"Isn't that a dangerous neighborhood?" Hermione ventured cautiously, but Sophie dismissed the concern with a wave of her hand.

"It may have deteriorated over the past few years, but it's not _dangerous_. Besides, there are some antique shops with interesting artifacts. You might have better luck finding something for Tom…and it's not as if you're likely to find anything in Hogsmeade at this late date!"

"Where are the professors?" Hermione asked uneasily, looking for Professor Beery, or, failing that, Professor Merrythought.

"Probably shopping too! Come on, you two, or are you going to waste the whole day?" Sophie said, grabbing their arms and dragging them toward the entrance to Knockturn Alley.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Hermione repeated, but then they were in the narrow passthrough and she shut up so as not to draw notice to themselves. At least they all had their hoods up, but the snow that was drifting down and served as a partial curtain also gave whatever unsavory folk who might be lurking equal cover. Hermione hurried past an offshoot of the alley, its dark mouth promising all sorts of untidy ends.

"Let's try here," Sophie suggested, and Hermione nearly groaned when she saw which shop it was. Borgin & Burke's. _Of course_.

"Excuse me," Sophie called loudly, attracting the attention of the shopkeeper.

"She should have been in Slytherin," Hermione hissed to Olivia, who nodded affirmatively in reply. A pasty older wizard came forward, his smile far more sinister than it should have been since he was missing nearly all of his teeth.

"And how can I help such dewy-eyed young ladies?" he said, eyeing them up as if they were candy.

"My friend is shopping for a very particular wizard, with particular tastes. Perhaps you might be able to make a suggestion regarding a gift?"

Hermione gave Sophie credit, she did the arch brow and supercilious manner with the best of them. However, she felt incredibly uneasy, and her hand slipped to her pocket to get a good grip on her wand.

"I'm sure the young lady could find something suitable in this case…rather interesting artifacts, particularly these…" The wizard removed a tray containing rings, and Hermione didn't need her wand to feel the malevolence rolling off some of the pieces.

"I think not. Good day sir," Hermione said grabbing hold of her roommates and moving swiftly toward the door. Unfortunately, two older wizards entered the shop at the same time, and in an instant Hermione knew that this meant trouble.

"Good afternoon, Caractacus," the larger of the two called, his attention firmly fixed on the three girls. "Just browsing today."

The shopkeeper returned to the back of his shop, clearly leaving them to fend for themselves, which was precisely what this frequent customer wanted. He cocked his head to the side and fixed his attention on Olivia, who visibly shrank under his scrutiny. "Now, what would you three poppets be doing here, all alone?"

"We were just leaving," Hermione said firmly. "Excuse us. I'm sure the rest of our party is waiting for us."

"Oh, there's no one out there waiting for you three," the other wizard said, a nasty inflection to his tone. "I doubt they'll even notice you're gone for a few hours yet…"

The larger wizard reminded Hermione uncomfortably of Thorfinn Rowle, both in looks and brutish manners.

"Excuse us," Hermione insisted, and made to push Sophie past the wizard. His hand shot out and he grabbed Sophie's arm, eliciting a shriek from Olivia and a drawn wand from Hermione.

"Unhand my friend. Now." Hermione's eyes were steely, and the shorter wizard laughed, keeping his grip on Sophie, while the larger wizard coolly appraised her as Olivia's eyes roamed toward the door, her fingers finally moving in the direction they should have gone from the start, toward the wand in her pocket.

"You need a lesson in how to be put in your place," the wizard said, throwing a wandless hex toward Olivia, which Hermione blocked. The other wizard was trying to sidle off with Sophie, but Hermione fixed him in place with a sticking charm, mentally willing the girl to _Fight Back, damn it!_ Sophie started struggling with the wizard, unable to reach her wand in her pocket, and Hermione began trading curses with the other one, who had a nasty leer on his face. Olivia's attempts to help were less than helpful, dueling being less than her forte. In fact she was such a hindrance that Hermione was actually glad when she fell down due to a langlock curse.

"You are no match for me." The man was confident, but she'd be damned if she just let them be bullied and kidnapped for Godric knew what ends.

"And you, sir, are no match for me."

The voice was low and sibilant, an echo from the future. A flash of red light hit the brute as he was turning, a furious Tom standing elegantly behind the figure now writhing on the floor of the shop. Whatever curse Tom had used to take down the wizard was brutally effective, his scream cut off by a silently cast _Silencio _from a single additional flick of Tom's wand. The other man broke off his struggles with Sophie and dashed out the door. Tom eyed his retreat disinterestedly. "I suspect Rosier will be happy to have something else to do. Ladies, please allow me to escort you back to a more salubrious shopping area."

Hermione heard her roommates' effusive thanks to Tom, but he only had eyes for her. He was spitting mad, and she had little doubt she would get more than an earful from him. Abraxas Malfoy and Granthus Gibbon were waiting outside, and courteously gave their escort to Sophie and Olivia, who were prattling about their near miss with death, and extolling the further virtues of the Head Boy.

"What in the bloody fuck were you doing in that shop?" Tom hissed angrily, his posture rigidly controlled in marked contrast to the roil of anger inside him. When Rosier had summoned him about the girls' Knockturn Alley excursion, he had been peeved—but to find them in Borgin & Burke's, of all shops! He pulled Hermione aside near the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, the only semi-private area available to give her the bollocking she deserved.

"Sophie suggested it. It was about a present for _you_, ironically—I told her it was a bad idea, but she insisted, dragged us over there…and in the shop the items were definitely not anything I would buy, I don't give a damn how Dark you are I'm not buying that sort of thing for you…"

She was babbling, and Tom hated that, so he silenced her in the most expedient manner given their public setting, kissing her brutally hard.

"Shut up," he said when he finally relented, his forehead pressed against hers. "Which shopkeeper helped you?"

Hermione had a very bad feeling about this, but one look at his eyes told her that it was a non-negotiable point. "I don't know his name. He was older, with white hair. Missing all his teeth."

"That would be Burke," Tom said through clenched teeth, then he forcibly relaxed his jaw. "Well, currently he faces the unenviable task of dealing with a wizard afflicted with the transmogrifian curse in the doorway of his shop. Come along."

He grabbed her unresisting arm and pulled her through the Leaky Cauldron, heading for the Muggle exit.

"But…Dumbledore…" Hermione said in a voice that was barely a whisper, still in shock. That curse meant a torturous death. She didn't know if any way to reverse it even existed. Tom Riddle had essentially just murdered a man, for her. He had stopped an attacker the most expedient way he knew how—he had simply killed him. For HER. Hermione felt her legs go weak, had to work to keep herself moving forward, caught in an unbelievable position.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Dumbledore is not here! Did you think Dippet would be inclined to forgive you three for getting involved in an altercation in Knockturn Alley on the eve of Christmas break?" Tom hissed as he pulled her out of the pub, wordlessly transfiguring their capes into something more passably Muggle. "You'd have been lucky to not be expelled, your so-called relation to Dumbledore notwithstanding! At least there is one person at Hogwarts concerned about protecting you!"

He spat out the name 'Dumbledore' with such vehemence that, if words were curses, the person he was referring to would have doubled over in pain. Hermione didn't get the chance to reply because he was dragging her along at such a great pace that she was having trouble catching her breath.

"Tom, please! Stop! Where are you taking me?" she got out hurriedly.

"To see something that will open your eyes," he said harshly, practically running through side streets and alleys with a haste that would have caused them to bump into people if he hadn't cast a Muggle repelling charm on them both.

"I don't understand," Hermione said. "They will notice we are gone—"

"This won't take long," he said, finally letting go of her hand and stopping suddenly, causing Hermione to nearly bump into him. "Tell me what you see, Hermione. Now."

Hermione looked around and saw only rubble. There were brick walls that were half-standing, haphazard piles of bricks and mortar with blackened scorch marks on them. She was still short of breath, but the look on Tom Riddle's face stole her breath away again. He looked furious as he surveyed the devastation.

"Well?" he demanded angrily, and Hermione turned to face him.

"I see rubble," she said, wrapping her arms around herself.

"This is where I used to live," he said coldly, pointing to a large pile of rubble. "It was obliterated three years ago in the Christmas Firestorm—part of the Blitz. I was here to see it."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock. She had not known this—no one knew this, she was sure. "But…weren't you at the school?"

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Didn't your _relative_ mention it when he was telling tales about me? I grew up in that orphanage, and I had to return to it every summer and winter break, thanks to your marvelous Professor Dumbledore."

He drew closer to her and Hermione knew he was still angry about Knockturn Alley, which reminded her of what he had just done. She couldn't think through the events fast enough as he continued to speak, his eyes narrowing. "You think me _ignorant_ of the Muggle world? I know it far better than you, my girl. I see the fruits every time I am forced back to it by that _benevolent soul_. I saw firsthand as people burned that night and buildings tumbled down, Muggles running everywhere to avoid the death that was falling from the sky."

"The Blitz was terrible," Hermione whispered, and Tom pushed her against a tumbled down wall, his hand firm on her upper arm, holding her against it easily.

"You know _nothing_ of it! You tell me: how _kind_ is your Dumbledore, to send me back here every year without fail while the Muggles try to obliterate each other? There weren't any wards on this building, Hermione. No protections for underage wizards like myself. Go ahead, ask me. I can see the question in your eyes—_ask!_"

Hermione didn't want to ask. She didn't want to know if any of the children in the orphanage had died. The answer was written already in the blaze of anger in his eyes. Tom remembered every detail of that night: the screams, the smells; the instinctive control of the fire that allowed him egress, his magic once again his salvation.

"What do you really know about this nasty Muggle war, Hermione? Have you ever seen the fruits of the Muggles' struggles up close as I have? No. Have you seen the stump of an arm left to the Muggle who used to be your roommate? Heard the wheeze of lungs damaged by mustard gas, then forced twenty years later to struggle for breath in thick, rolling smoke? You think Dumbledore so great, so mighty, so trustworthy? You are dangerously naïve, despite your intelligence, and you are out of your depth if you seek to play in the deep, dark waters between myself and that wizard. I know you keep speaking to him, that he keeps up his gentle interrogations of you in the hope that he will trap me somehow. And you had the gall to lecture _me_ on what wizarding society owes magical children!" Tom paused, his face a wreath of anger as he fought to get himself under control again. Finally he seemed to calm slightly, and continued, "I caution you now, and only once, witch—don't play with things you don't understand."

"I understand enough!" Hermione retorted despite his closeness. "I understand that you have ulterior motivations concerning me, that you are seeking to use me somehow for your own ends. I understand that everyone is too scared of you to stand up to you, and I am truly sorry for your upbringing—but you don't want or need my pity. What can I say to you other than war is a terrible, hateful thing? What do you think I should do, _trust_ you? You yourself told me that trust is for fools! And you would ask me to throw away the only person who has treated me respectfully, who has some idea of what I have been through!"

"I know what you've been through, Hermione," Tom said harshly. "I know _exactly_ what sorts of things you have been through, little witch. You are a fighter, like me. You will never roll over and take what someone tries to impose on you, be it a nasty label or something you perceive to be unjust. You will fight until your last breath, and even then you won't give up. _You are exactly like me_."

"I am not like you," Hermione replied shakily, feeling the immense waves of magic rolling off of both of them, feeding off of each other's heightened emotions.

"Keep lying to yourself if it gives you comfort," Tom said coldly, then roughly pulled her away from the wall. "We have to get back so I can finish cleaning up your little mess."

"Tom…" Hermione began, but he was in no mood to listen to her. He pulled her back to the Leaky Cauldron with the same reckless speed, their cloaks resuming their normal appearance as they passed through the brick wall. Hermione was once again breathless from his pace, her mind tumbling over itself.

"Tom, please! Tell me you didn't kill that man," she whispered with a low tone, but Tom had found what he was looking for and ignored her quiet query. MacNair came over instantly and Tom thrust Hermione toward him. "Take her _shopping_," he said sarcastically. "Don't let her out of your sight."

MacNair nodded, taking her arm curtly and dragging her down the alley before she could protest.

"Let go of me!" Hermione insisted, shaking off Abelard MacNair's hold. "Where is he going?" Hermione asked, turning her head to see Riddle being swallowed up by a sea of people.

"I reckon if he wanted you to know that he'd have told you," MacNair said brusquely. "What stores have you NOT been in yet?"

Hermione wanted very much to tell MacNair that he could go fuck himself, but that would hardly be characteristic behavior for a girl of this decade, and she would certainly hear about that from Tom as well.

"This one," she said wildly, careening into the closest shop. MacNair rolled his eyes at her, but stood at the doorway and let her go further in. All Hermione wanted was some breathing room and time to process the massive revelations that Tom had just given her. Abelard MacNair wasn't exactly her favorite person to have in company, either. He was a thug, plain and simple, but an intelligent one and so of course Tom would pick him for his little nascent Death Eaters. _Nascent Death Eaters!_

Hermione banged her head on the closest surface, which happened to be a cage. She heard a harsh chattering noise, then felt a hair being pulled from her head.

"Ow!" she said to the bird, a large magpie which was looking at her as if she had it coming, her curly hair still in its beak.

"Are you interested in getting that bird, miss? He's a troublemaker, too intelligent for his own good, but with patience he could be quite a good pet," the clerk said. Inspiration struck and Hermione eyed the bird thoughtfully.

"How much is he?" Hermione asked, then handed over the necessary coins. "What is his name?"

"That's up to you, miss. Good luck."

Hermione took the cage firmly in hand, then looked toward the entrance. The shop was busy with parents buying their children owls, and MacNair was having trouble moving through the shop in order to keep an eye on her.

"Is there a back room that can be used for apparating?" Hermione asked, determined to retrieve some of her independence. She would not be _babysat_ by the likes of Abelard MacNair!

"Oh yes, right through that gray door," the clerk said, turning to another customer.

Hermione made her way swiftly through, ignoring the bird's chattering. Resolved, she closed the door and turned, taking herself and the magpie directly to the gates of Hogwarts. _Take that and stuff it, Tom Riddle!_ she thought as Professor Slughorn ticked her name off the charmed list.

"Have a good time shopping?" he called after her.

"The usual," Hermione called back, hurrying to the Owlery to deposit the magpie. Once there, she addressed the bird sternly, her wand at the ready.

"Right, I've decided your name is Ovid. Now I'm not going to be your owner, I don't think, but you'd better stay put or this charm I'm casting on you will make you a very unhappy bird. You'll be fed here, and I'll check on you each day until it's time to meet your new owner. Are we clear?"

The magpie cocked its head to the side, which Hermione took as affirmation, and then cast the charm before she opened the cage door and let the magpie out. The bird seemed to be staying put, so she went back down the steep stairs, eager to escape to Ravenclaw Tower and remain there for the rest of the day. She had no wish to encounter Tom and whatever further chastisement he doubtless wished to give her.

Unfortunately for Hermione, her roommates only wanted to recount how protective Tom was, and blather about what they had bought when they appeared in their room an hour later with all their packages. Hermione ignored their questions about how Tom had treated her in the aftermath, quickly realizing that they had no idea that she hadn't spent the remainder of the afternoon in the Head Boy's company. She pled a headache to escape dinner, her mind spinning over the disastrous events of Knockturn Alley and Muggle London. By the time she fell into an exhausted sleep, she was no closer to an answer as to what to do.

Tom Riddle was furious when he discovered that MacNair had lost Hermione. Because he was Head Boy, he was able to find out quite quickly that she had been checked off back at Hogwarts, but he was livid that doing so was necessary. MacNair was in for a severe beating, his temper at high tide. All the students were leaving the next day, but his followers reported faithfully to the Room of Requirement, and Tom mercilessly punished Abelard MacNair until he was quite certain it would take all of the break for him to recover properly. He dismissed them all impatiently, choosing to leave Hermione for later. He was still quite angry, and had not decided how to deal with the two wizards yet. Until _that _was sorted, he would not feel he could properly put the incident behind him.

He let himself out of the castle under a strong disillusionment charm. The only solution for this towering rage was a bit of bloodletting, and that was best found in the Forbidden Forest.


	16. Taking the Reins

**Quick update, yay! I love vacations. Relatela, hee hee-yes, he is mad! See what he does here...**

**Now, as I said initially, I'm not going to use author's notes to explain, but bear with me as a new element is added. It's not a flashback, more of a flash-forward, if you will. The reasons why will become apparent over the next ten chapters or so as the plot moves along. Just wanted to warn you as it's the first time it's been _necessary_...hehe. Also, the chapter title means what it says. Buckle up, it's going to be a bumpy night!**

* * *

_June 25, 1951_

_Tom Riddle sipped his cocoa, which was far too sweet. It was really quite a vile drink, but Hepzibah Smith was enamored of her afternoon chocolate and biccies, and he found it a good time to visit her and butter her up._

_"Now, Tom, I was thinking that perhaps I would like to show you my most valuable items. These are things which have come to me through various means, nothing truly illicit of course, but when the opportunities presented I had to take them, of course…" she paused to nod her head at Tom, who had taken another piece of the fruitcake she favored. It, too, was overly sweet, but Tom was willing to put up with a good deal to see what interesting items she had…and it wasn't for the benefit of Caractacus Burke._

_"Oh, I assure you, dear lady, there is nothing I would enjoy more than to see these special pieces you possess."_

_Hepzibah Smith beamed at Tom Riddle. 'Such a charming young man, and so interested in history too!'_

_Tom obligingly wheeled her chair into her 'gallery', as she called it. Hepzibah couldn't see very well, but her wandwork was still efficient and she unlocked the case which held her most valuable treasures, then gently reached in to lift out first Salazar Slytherin's locket, then Helga Hufflepuff's cup. She set them gently on the table at her side, not able to see the avaricious gleam in Tom Riddle's eyes._

_"I have always admired the workmanship in the gold, just here," Hepzibah said, holding the locket close to her face to make out the wrought serpents._

_"It is an enviable piece," Tom said, lifting Helga Hufflepuff's cup to inspect it, "as is this. Do tell me how you came to acquire them."_

_Hepzibah's eyes tracked upward, her face full of fond remembrances. _

_"Well, this necklace has an interesting history, as I'm sure you know…"_

_She didn't see the yew wand slip into his hand, and didn't feel a thing as the green light hit her. Tom stumbled forward into the table, the sharp edge pressing hard into his belly as he viciously recited the spell necessary to lodge a piece of his soul inside the cup clenched in his hand. As he finished the spell he added a little twist, something that would be necessary at some point in the future. Forcing himself to stand despite the agonizing pain, he turned, wand in hand, to deal with the house elf tottering in, the magic cast calling her feeble body to defend her dead mistress. Fortunately, he was already a dab hand at memory spells._

* * *

Hermione was feeling slightly apprehensive as she watched the vast majority of her housemates leave the next morning, eager to catch the train and go home to their families. It made her feel homesick and heartsick, and she was pathetically grateful for the gruff presence of her Head of House as he bade farewell to the majority of his charges for the next two weeks, a motley assortment of five Ravenclaws scattered across nearly as many years the only ones left at the castle for the holiday.

"Come along then, time for breakfast!" Professor Beery said, herding the younger students ahead of them as they reentered the school.

As she sat down to breakfast with the other Ravenclaws, Hermione noted that only a handful of other students remained from the other Houses. Hufflepuff and Gryffindor between them could field perhaps twelve students, while Slytherin boasted the largest complement with thirteen. Tom Riddle supervised them all, conveniently the only prefect left over the holiday. As such, Hermione had no doubt that Tom had been given free rein of the castle, and likely had volunteered himself for whatever leadership duties were necessary. Hermione had never stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas, which made the experience all the more jarring, emphasizing the disconnect from her life in her own timeline.

As he had indicated, Professor Dumbledore was traveling away from the castle for the holiday, so Hermione found herself relying on Professor Beery to run a sort of guarded interference for her with Tom. Slughorn had taken himself off, presumably to one or more innumerable connections' houses for the holiday, and Dippet presided over a reduced staff and greatly reduced student population.

Tom played his usual role as Head Boy, especially with regard to the younger students. It was a good opportunity for him to check for talent among the youngest of Hogwarts population, ones who were too young to attract his notice otherwise but who were amazingly loquacious when he was just a tad bit friendlier to them under the pretense of the holiday. Some were the children of diplomats abroad, or orphans like himself, or simply the product of negligent parents who couldn't be bothered to retrieve their child from the school for the two week Christmas break. It was these who were the most chatty, he found, and it was quite simple to take note of any that were particularly talented at an early age (of which there were few), or of those they spoke of in their own Houses who were a few years behind Tom but who showed promise.

Remarkably, Tom left Hermione alone for the six days leading up to Christmas, which was not what she had expected. Rather than put her at ease, it increased her agitation. She knew he was still furious about the incident in Knockturn Alley, and she had noticed MacNair walking with a limp to the station. It didn't take a genius to deduce that Tom had punished him for losing track of her.

For his part, Tom had no intention of dealing with Hermione until she had fretted herself to pieces over it first. She was a clever girl, and she was well aware that the shopping incident hadn't been properly dealt with. He watched her surreptitiously, inwardly pleased that she was bothered by the situation. It boded well for what he had planned.

As Tom continued to ignore her, Hermione began to consider whether she would ask Professor Beery for help dissuading Tom if needed, using the excuse that they had a bad break-up. However, she didn't think it would do any good to continue waiting, and tried to track him down for a confrontation two days before Christmas. Tom, however, was clearly avoiding her, and Hermione found herself thwarted by his Head Boy duties and his 'mentoring' of the Slytherins in the absence of their Head of House.

By the time Christmas Eve came around she had barely any appetite, despite the air of festivity that the rest of the students and even faculty were exhibiting. The professors were scattered among the students, and she was seated almost exactly opposite Tom. He didn't look at her at all, and this reinforced her nervousness. She could only hope that time was diffusing Tom's anger, and thought again about just keeping Ovid for herself. The bird tolerated her, and Hermione decided to wait and see if Tom gave her anything for Christmas.

During the dinner on Christmas Eve Tom smirked to himself at Hermione's obvious discomfort. His innate response to punish and domineer was being forcibly tempered by the flashes of precognition she offered him, and that was forcing him to pull back a bit and explore other means of control. She was actually a fascinating case study, a test of his powers to control himself, diversify his methods. He wasn't quite sure he could turn her, but he was confident now that she would die before she broke for him. That made her all the more attractive. A witch who could stand up to him was a rarity indeed. He wondered again at _why_ he had sent her back to himself. It was just another puzzle he was determined to solve. He wondered what Hermione would make of his gift to her, and smiled to himself at the thought of her reaction. Now wouldn't that be amusing?

* * *

"Wake up, Hermione."

Hermione tried to brush away the buzzing voice at her ear, but it repeated itself. What really woke her, though, was her hand being captured by another…a strong grip, slender fingers… Hermione's eyes flew open, and she repressed the urge to scream when she made out Tom's face in the dim light of her bed.

"We're going to have a little chat now," he said quietly, his brain oddly noting that she preferred pajamas to a nightgown. "About what happened at Borgin & Burke's."

Hermione was sitting up now, warily letting Tom pull her upward. "What are you doing in my room?" she whispered.

He quirked an eyebrow, and Hermione's befuddled brain clicked fully on. He had obviously cast a silencing spell, and who knew what else. There was nothing she would put past him.

"Did you honestly think I would let you continue to avoid me?"

It was impossible to see him clearly with the bed curtains being shut, and Hermione slowly reached under her pillow, then cast a soft "_Lumos_" while Tom watched her like a hawk. It was a mistake, she realized, as it made it more intimate, details she could ignore when it was dark and fuzzy now standing out in glaring relief…his leg pressed close to hers, the fact that she was in her pajamas, which surely had not escaped his notice…the fact that he was still holding her left hand, his thumb casually tracking across her flesh in a manner that was provocative, yet oddly reassuring.

"I was not avoiding you. You've been avoiding me!" Hermione said. "I can't believe you killed him!"

"Isn't it interesting how you are so willing to believe the worst of me?" Tom said idly as he pressed a kiss on her hand, his eyes flicking upward to capture hers. "Perhaps it was just something I said to shock you, to capture your attention regarding the gravity of your error."

"Was it?" Hermione asked, her eyes challenging him, while his gaze remained hooded.

"Does it matter? He was a nasty individual, who had already committed numerous crimes. Isn't the wizarding world better off without individuals such as he?"

There was a hidden layer of meaning beneath his question, and Hermione recognized the danger. If she agreed with him, she was giving him tacit permission to be judge and jury, but if she disagreed with him, was she saying that she was okay with knowing there were wizards out there perpetrating heinous deeds and getting away with them? No, of course not! Clearly her brain was still fuzzy from lack of sleep, and she shook her head, determined to keep the conversation within some expected boundaries.

"That's beside the point. The point is, I am capable of taking care of myself. As sweet as my roommates found your behavior, I cannot help but find your stalker tendencies creepy."

"My _stalker tendencies_, as you call them, saved your arse! Do you have any idea what they had planned for you?" Tom let a bit of his simmering anger loose now, his magic swirling into the air between them. Hermione leaned back involuntarily, and Tom grabbed her arm, pulling her firmly toward him, burying his other hand in her hair. "I don't think you understand yet, Hermione. You. Are. Mine."

There was no retreat from him this time. His mouth claimed hers with brutal efficiency, the strength of his will a tangible thing between them as his tongue mapped every inch of her mouth. This was different, a sense of panic suffusing Hermione as she felt his magic playing with her, calling to her, seeking to entwine itself with her own. What was he doing to her? His fingers slipped underneath her top, the contact of skin against skin causing the temperature in the bed to leap twenty degrees. When his hand slid up to her breast, the panic button was well and truly pressed in Hermione's brain, and she broke off the kiss with a gasp. Her brain was suffused with shame, her thoughts unwittingly falling from her lips.

"Please…no…I can't—you're _Lord Voldemort_!" She stilled instantly when she heard the words in the quiet hush, felt Tom tense like a defensive animal, his hand hot on her rib cage beneath her pajamas. Her eyes met his, the shame and guilt writ large in hers, desire, irritation, and a nameless _want_ in his.

"Where did you hear that name?" he asked, the deadly intent of his voice her only warning before he was suddenly _there_, in her mind, his eyes locked on hers. He had locked in on her memory of the Hogwarts Express, heard Ron saying, "_You can't just call him by his name! He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is what most people say…he's just too scary to talk about!_"

Hermione was trying to push him out, retreat into Occlumency, but he had found the thread of her memories now and slid along to the actual instance of his chosen name. She was reading in her bed, just a slip of a girl with bushy hair, her mind devouring the words on the page. He took in the sentence, "And thus begins the rise of arguably the most powerful Dark wizard of all time, Lord Voldemort…" She tried to cut him off, push him out, but he forced her to show him the title of the book emblazoned at the top of the page: _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_. His mind locked on that word, _Fall_, and she was finally able to push him out of her mind and away from her body at the same time, moving backward on her bed until she was pressed against the headboard, her wand clutched tightly in her hand and pointed at him.

Inside, he was seething. He had lost! Somewhere, something went wrong, and he failed. He must have—_died_. He had half thought it was possible, part of why he had sent her here—but to have it staring him in the face from the cold copperplate script of a book…

Tom felt hot fury that such a fate befell him, the one thing he was determined to avoid at all costs. Apparently he had not been clever enough. He finally noticed how his magic was spontaneously roaring off of him, his lack of control causing Hermione to shrink away from him.

"I won't hurt you," he growled harshly. "Don't you understand that yet?" He held up his hands to show that he wasn't going to try anything, his mind racing through the implications of her memory. Damn, but she was infuriating, keeping that to herself these many months!

Hermione didn't know what to do. He _knew_ she was from the future, here was incontrovertible proof. He had cleverly danced around it, implied it, but now there were no illusions left between them. And he had decided that she was too valuable to let slip away from him, or perhaps he had known ever since he had tortured her. It had marked the turning point in his attentions to her, and Hermione shivered again at the thought of what could have possibly happened to cause such a sea change in the future Lord Voldemort's behavior toward one he knew to be a Mudblood.

"Why not?" she asked defensively, trying to keep him talking so she could think of a means to get away from him. "Why won't you hurt me?"

"We both know why not," he snarled, running his fingers through his hair in an unusual sign of agitation. "Damn it, Hermione, how could you keep this from me?"

"How could I not?" she cried. "You're my enemy, I shouldn't even be here!"

"Your enemy _then_," Tom insisted. "Or do you really think I'm your enemy today, now?"

"How could you ask me that? I don't even know what you've already learned! You tortured and Obliviated me, and have been manipulating me since. I should have left the second I realized your intent—I've made such a mess—" Hermione shut up when she realized she was talking to Lord Voldemort, whose eyes turned murderous at the mention of her leaving.

"You will NEVER leave me, do you understand? NEVER." He wanted to tell her he had conquered time to acquire her, claim her, but he couldn't. He hadn't finished claiming her yet, was still in the middle of his long game—and she _might_ slip through his fingers if he wasn't careful. "DAMN you, you're an irritating minx!"

"And you're a bloody Dark Lord!" Hermione yelled back at him, her chest heaving from the adrenaline coursing through her.

Tom paused. He couldn't allow her to retain this streak of rebellion, but another Obliviate would stick out like a sore thumb. His wand was pointing at her easily, quickly, and he saw the resolve in her expression, her own wand at the ready. "You will swear an Unbreakable vow to me, here and now, that you will not run away from me for the remainder of this school year."

"Like hell I will," Hermione said fiercely, but Tom had expected that. His wand flicked while she was talking, disarming her and causing her wand to fly to his hand. He had expected, too, that she would bolt, and he plastered himself on top of her, pinning her back to the headboard.

"Enough!" he hissed, his magic still roiling the air around them. "A blood oath, then. I don't care if it's voluntary or not, but I mean it when I say you won't be able to get away from me."

"If you think I will _bind_ myself to you willingly, you've got another think coming," Hermione retorted, her own magic flaring uncontrollably. Tom pressed his body into hers, his magic forcibly subduing her own. As with everything, the control he had over his magic made the difference, while Hermione's flare was powerful but only instinctive.

"You weren't terribly unwilling moments ago," he said snidely, "but have it your way. Like so many others, apparently you want to make this more painful for you than it needs to be."

Hermione tried to move, but she found that he had immobilized her quite effectively. She could, however, still speak, even as she watched him produce a small dagger, the blade gleaming briefly before he cut a wide line on his own left palm, then turned the knife edge toward her hand, his eyes flicking toward hers.

"If you do this, you won't ever be able to kill me," Hermione said, but he just gave her a small smile, quickly cutting her right palm in an identical manner, ignoring the grimace and gasp of pain that escaped her lips.

"So clever and you still haven't figured it out, have you?" he murmured, pressing his hand firmly to hers, intertwining their fingers roughly so their blood could fully mix, mingle. "I already can't kill you. This is not the first time my blood has mixed with yours."

Hermione didn't know what spell he used, she only saw it fly from the end of his wand and encircle their hands, his mouth hissing in speech she recognized as Parseltongue. There was a flash of white indicating that the bond was formed, a strange tingling spreading throughout her body as he removed his hand from hers, then healed them both.

"That's better," he said as he looked at her, then added quietly, "_Sanguinem invocabo_," pointing his wand at his palm. Hermione felt the tingling spreading throughout her body as Tom moved deliberately away from her, watching her closely. She closed her eyes and scrabbled up, away from him. The tingling got worse, her breath beginning to hitch. She _needed_ something, her blood pushing her, trying to get her body to move.

"What have you done?" she asked, fighting the impulse to make contact with him while he dispassionately watched her.

"Taken the necessary next step," he said, waiting. She was stubborn, but this spell was quite useful. It could be subsumed later when she was willing to cooperate, but for the time being it ensured she would not be going anywhere.

Hermione felt like her blood was about to pour out of her skin, she was so desperate to touch him. She would _not_ give him the satisfaction, however, and she watched the corner of his mouth turn up.

"I'll just be going then," he said, and made to stand up from the bed.

"No!" The cry was wrenched from her mouth without her permission, and she actually felt several blood vessels pop in her eyes. He watched her with an expectant gleam in his eyes, and Hermione finally reached out to his extended hand when she began gasping for breath. The instant her flesh made contact with his, she felt the drumming in her blood quiet, closed her eyes to regain her equilibrium.

"I see you understand, Hermione. If I call you, you will come." Tom flicked his wand and the spell ended, and he set down their wands to grip her face with both hands, looking at the sclera of her eyes.

"Episkey," he breathed, very close to each eye, and the burst capillaries healed themselves. He pulled back and looked at her. "Don't try my patience again."

Hermione's thoughts were a whirlwind, her emotions strong and potent. Over it all was a clear, clean anger that he could treat her thus, and it dictated her first response, her emotions getting the better of her.

"_Sanguinem invocabo_," she hissed, her fingers closing around her wand as she cast a strong, wordless _Repulso_ charm and sent him flying into the bed curtains, which fortunately he had charmed shut. The fabric ripped alarmingly, his blood humming in response to her inelegant casting of the spell. Later he would reflect that it was admirable that she had managed to wrangle the spell, the Dark magic swirling in a heady manner around the infuriating witch. It was a tantalizing glimpse of what she could do.

He should have been furious, and was on one level. On the other, he was viciously amused that she could behave so even knowing he could make her completely miserable. Magic wasn't always necessary to control, but it was the far superior method for most people. Hermione, however, wasn't most people. He didn't want to break her, he wanted to _use_ her…and that included her strong, if rebellious, magic. Nonetheless, rebellious outbursts could not be tolerated. It time to show his witch exactly what he was capable of already.

Hermione didn't know precisely what the sudden flash of red in Tom's eyes meant, but it could only be bad. He didn't say a word, simply slashed his wand and she knew instantly that he had canceled the effects of the blood spell, feeling the recoil like whiplash. His wand slashed again, and Hermione felt a squeeze on her lungs, as if she had suddenly been compressed, her magic itself folding in on her in a highly unpleasant manner. Tom lazily crawled down the bed toward her and plucked her wand from her hand, canceling the oppressive pressure after he had done so. Yet again in the space of a few minutes Hermione was disarmed and left to Lord Voldemort's less than tender mercies, and he had no intention of being merciful. He gripped her arm hard and focused, using a skill that he rarely had occasion to need. He turned into himself, taking Hermione with him, the muffled crack of disapparition resounding like thunder to Hermione's stunned ears at the top of the Astronomy tower.

Hermione was panicked. "You can't disapparate within Hogwarts," she protested, even though that was clearly what he had just done—and side-along as well.

"Founder's Heir," Tom said in a clipped tone. "We're not done yet."

Hermione had never wondered how the Death Eaters flew, had never wanted to pick up a skill that caused such terror and involved one of her personal phobias. Tom Riddle knew none of that, however, and he took her with him, stepping off the tower as if it were nothing, both of them dissolving into fast flying tendrils of black smoke, the destination known only to Tom. Thankfully he didn't take her too far, and Hermione resisted the urge to throw up when they landed in the same clearing where they had had their DADA trial, the Forbidden Forest quiet and dark. She did clutch her stomach, just barely stopped herself from putting her head between her knees to stop the nauseous rolling of her stomach.

"Don't like flying, do you?" Lord Voldemort said shrewdly, circling her with his wand in hand, casting another spell on her with a rapid fluidity that showed just how dangerous he was already. Tom Riddle had been subsumed into his alter ego, and Hermione found the change terrifying.

"Now, I believe this setting is more conducive to reaching an _understanding_ about this improvement to our relationship. Before you open your insolent little mouth, I want to remind you that you have just shown me a very distressing memory, one from which I have drawn the most depressing conclusions. Furthermore, I am no longer going to dance around the fact that I sent you back _to myself_, for reasons that, if they are not obvious to you, I will not make plain."

"I know why," she said hoarsely, grabbing her midsection with both arms. "You want a road map, to analyze and see where you went wrong."

"Very good, Miss Girard…although that's not your name, is it? Tell me, what is your real last name? Not that it matters, I doubt many Hermiones will pass through the gates of Hogwarts in the future."

"I don't have to tell you anything," Hermione said, steeling herself when he lifted her chin with his wand. His eyes were that terrifying red, but there was a glimmer in them that boded very well, or very ill, for her future, depending on your point of view.

"No, you don't. And I can't force you to tell me—a little hiccup that I foresaw, because the helpful little note I sent to myself gave me quite precise information regarding how I was to dispose of you, Hermione."

Hermione did shiver with how he pronounced the word, _dispose_, but she bravely kept her eyes locked with his. His lips quirked upwards, that glimmer in his eye taking a decidedly different bent. "Yes, I can see many reasons for the…_instructions_ I gave myself. But I won't toy with you, because believe it or not, I am quite fond of you, in my own little way. Therefore, I want to hear you acknowledge our new footing, as it were, in your own words. Let's just say, I want to be sure you've _heard_ what I told you."

Hermione recognized a test when she was given one. _Bastard_, she thought to herself, grateful at least that his little speech had given her time to rebuild her mental walls, re-equilibrate herself.

"You have created a blood bond between us," Hermione said bitterly, and Voldemort nodded his head, a clear implication that he expected her to continue. "And I won't deliberately try your patience again."

Voldemort walked over to her, his intent clear. He pulled her in tightly by her waist, causing her arms to fall to her sides, her head falling back to keep eye contact with him. He was an absolute mix of Tom Riddle and the fearsome Lord Voldemort, both dangerous and dark. "And what about our _relationship_, Hermione? What will you do about that, hmm?"

She could almost hear his voice in her head, _Don't lie to yourself_, as he studied her, his eyes too perceptive, too knowing. Hermione felt the upswell of an angry panic again, fought to keep tears from rising in her eyelids, bravely keeping her eyes locked with his. She knew obfuscation and delaying would do no good, so she tried the last weapon she had: absolute honesty.

"Please don't push me faster than I can go."

It was a naked plea, a cry for delayed payment, for time to wrestle, suss out exactly what he meant, what he intended, to get away if she could. He cocked his head slightly to the side, as if thinking about it, then kissed her. She knew he would, could no more stop him than she could stop the tide or moonrise. She tried to keep her response to him minimal, just let him take what he wanted, but that wouldn't do for Tom, both his magic and his mouth subtly compelling her body to respond, her mouth to begin moving against his. In her mind, however, Hermione remained withdrawn, and it was this that made Tom draw back. It would take time to rebuild that. _It's always two steps forward, one step back with her_.

"I'll take you back now," he said, walking away from her to break off a slender rod of birch from one of the trees. He didn't say anything else, just took her in his arms and flew with her back to Hogwarts, this time to the clock tower. He looked at her briefly, noticing the way her nipples were pebbled hard from the cold and the slight chatter of her teeth that she was trying valiantly to disguise. He wordlessly cast a warming charm on her, then tucked her wand into her pajama pocket. She looked up at him and said,

"Thank you."

She honestly meant it, he could tell. Would the surprises ever end with this witch? He hardened at the thought of having her, realizing how very much he wanted her complete surrender to him.

"Good night, Hermione," he said, before apparating them both directly to her bedroom, then disappearing again directly. When Hermione sat back on her bed, she realized she was crushing something. She turned and withdrew the birch branch, covered in the bright green of spring leaves. Tom Riddle had given her his deadline.


	17. A Gift, or a Guide?

**Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night! Happy Yule, Happy Festivus, and Jolly Joyreading Day to you all! Ok I made the last one up, but it seems apropros. **

**Thank you all for the marvelous reviews! To the anonymous reviewers, thank you so much. I am so glad you found this and that you are enjoying the story. Relatela, enjoy their Christmas. :) **

**I will try to post the next chapter on Stephen's Day. Thank you all for reading & commenting so faithfully, and of course a huge thank you to JKR for her wonderful canon and the world in which my imagination romps.**

* * *

To say that Hermione did not sleep well would be a misstatement. She simply didn't sleep. She sat up in her bed, her back pressed securely against the headboard, her arms wrapped around her knees for hours as she thought and thought and thought about what Tom had said, and what he had done.

"He knows…" she whispered to herself, the actual heaviness of the words in the air a tangible proof of one of her worst fears once she had realized she had been transported here. And yet, she had not dissolved in a nameless Avada, had not had her heart ripped from her body as she screamed, as she had seen Fenrir Greyback do to Lavender during the battle at Hogwarts. No, she was still alive, still breathing, still fighting. Still.

If Tom Riddle could have seen her then, it would have been the most instructive observation he could have made, for this was Hermione Granger at her most desperate, her most dangerous. She was so relaxed in her utter silence that it would have been easy to mistake her for dead, while her brain whirled at top speed through the implications of everything that had befallen her tonight.

Suddenly Hermione leapt from her bed. She needed to move, to give action to the thoughts, the ideas that were now spinning through her head in response to the bond Tom Riddle had inflicted on her, the callous ease with which he was moving forward with whatever dastardly plan he had hatched.

"He cannot break my Occlumency without breaking my mind…he cannot afford that…so he is moving ahead with other means to co-opt me, sway me…"

It helped that Hermione had an analytical mind. She was able to compartmentalize, to dissect Tom's personality and put aside the more troubling bits, like his charm and protectiveness, and focus on his single-minded psychopathic tendencies and cunning intellect. Never in her life had she imagined that she would be plotting one on one against Lord Voldemort, but if she was going to survive this (and she definitely meant to), she would have to anticipate him, and prepare herself for some undoubtedly nasty curves as best she could. She flicked open her desk drawer, Summoning parchment and a quill, her thoughts blooming rapidly in ink across the sheaf of papers that soon littered her desk. She would have to burn them all, of course, but her mind would remember them—remember the images, the flow of words, the moves and countermoves as she imagined they could play out.

"Oh yes, I see!" Hermione scribbled, her notes growing larger as names crossed the pages, arrows and question marks flying with haste until she sent the papers swirling in a whirlwind of parchment, her mind finally at ease with events, with where she would attempt to go from here. She sincerely hoped that Professor Beery was as close to Dumbledore as she hoped, else she would have difficulty. Furthermore, she hoped that the juvenile Tom Riddle was as prone to overconfidence as his older self. She forced herself to set aside the doubts, the questions about how certain things could go. She had to have _something_, a way to keep herself afloat while she worked toward her new plan and hopefully kept Tom distracted long enough to achieve it. There was certainly enough incentive in it—it was either win this, or lose her soul to the devil himself.

* * *

Tom smiled to himself in his room, a large scroll of parchment in his hand. Ah, she really was quite clever, his little witch. He set the scroll down and picked up a tumbler of firewhisky, turning it carefully in his hand, then took another measured sip. He rarely drank, but tonight was definitely an occasion that called for a small libation of thanks, as it were, to the still breathing form of his future self. Yes, he had obviously died, but those lovely Horcruxes must have worked, mustn't they? Although Hermione…she might know about those. He would have to pry obscurely and see what he could glean from her about that. Yes, definitely a wise prescription for himself.

There was a lot of work left to be done in the New Year. In what was now—yes, he checked the clock, less than a week—he would enter his nineteenth year, now secure in the knowledge that he was on track to rise to the heights of power that he had only hinted at to his faithful Knights. Doubtless there were some among them who were worried by his punishment of MacNair, but he had chosen Hermione's escort well. MacNair was also going to be responsible for a sublime bit of punishment being doled out, and the reward for that bit of work would be sweet indeed for Mr. MacNair. Tom took another sip of the whisky and nodded in salute to the fire. Already owls were flying on the subject—a few more lines on parchment, and the deed would be done. He wondered what Hermione would make of that little bit of information when it came to her. He had little doubt that he would hear about it from her himself.

The thought of Hermione ranting at him had his blood and magic swelling again.

"Patience," he told himself, taking a larger sip of the alcohol, the burning down his throat matching the hum in his blood. She was amazingly ferocious when she was angry, and he so loved that fiery spirit. Mmm, so appropriate, then, that he was so talented with handling fire. And what a handful she was. Moreso than the remembrance of the feel of her breast in his hand, the vision of such Dark magic swirling around her as she cast the blood summoning spell was intoxicatingly arousing. Talent over blood, indeed. She would be amazing—utterly magnificent, if only she would relinquish the stupid morals that were holding her back. He summoned a package from his bedside table, fingering the ribbon.

"Hinky!"

The Hogwarts elf popped in, and Tom handed it the package.

"For Miss Hermione Girard, for Christmas."

"Yes, sirs," the elf said with a bow, then winked out as suddenly as it had come.

Tom almost wished for a Christmas carol or two. It was certainly the merriest Christmas he had had yet, and it had not even started. He eyed the whisky again and threw what remained in the fire, which flared with heat and light from the alcohol. Idly, Tom used his wand to shape the flames, sketching a rather good likeness of Hermione's face, his own thoughtful and just a touch patronizing.

"Yes, I can see why she is worthy." He darted a glance at the parchment on his desk again and laughed.

* * *

Hermione crept nervously along the halls. It wasn't as if she were likely to be discovered—doubtless Tom was savoring his triumph over her, and the professors would not be expecting anyone out of bed on Christmas Eve. After all, on what other night were you most anxious to go to sleep? Soon enough she was in front of Dumbledore's office door, where she again debated the wisdom of this decision. No, it had to be done. She brought up her wand and probed gently.

The backlash of the wards that Professor Dumbledore had set was strong, but Hermione had prepared for that. She only hoped he didn't have blood wards set in his office—she had had quite enough of bloodletting for one night. She involuntarily clenched her teeth as she systematically dismantled the wards on the office door, opening the doorknob with a simple, 'Alohamora'.

It was rather disconcerting to be breaking into Dumbledore's office, but Hermione told herself it was no different to Snape's and went about her business. The silvery magical objects were whirring and clicking quietly, but she had to focus on her task. There were several cabinets besides the memory one. Only one was warded, the rest revealing tomes about all manner of subjects and an odd array of items that were a mix of Muggle and magical artifacts, as well as stashes of sweets.

"The desk, then," Hermione said quietly to herself, bringing her wand cautiously to bear again. "Damn."

It was a blood ward, and a tricky one too. She would have to somehow fool the ward into thinking she was Dumbledore, nor would a glamour or Polyjuice work. She looked around his office, thinking. The instruments whirring noises were somewhat soothing, but minutes ticked by and Hermione had not come up with a good solution. Finally her eye caught on the trashcan, and the sweets wrappers therein. She crouched down and pulled out a wrapper…"Tongue Twisting Toffee". It had been licked clean. A small smile passed across her mouth.

"Necessity is the mother of invention."

Hermione carefully placed the wrapper on the desk, then cut her finger swiftly with her potions knife, catching the drops in a vial. She healed the cut and stoppered the vial, turning her wand to the wrapper. Extracting the DNA was easy enough, but combining it with her blood was not. She wouldn't know if she had gotten it right until she tried it.

The resistance of the ward was strong, and it tried to slip away from her, almost rejecting the disguised blood. In the end, though, the ward dissipated with an almost sulky shiver, and Hermione was able to open the desk drawers in search of what she came for. In the bottom drawer on the left, she found the folio she had been looking for—all the research papers and notes that Professor Dumbledore had acquired on time travel. Withdrawing a tiny sheaf of parchment and copying quill from her pocket, Hermione re-enlarged them and set to work. Fortunately for her, Dumbledore still used resetting wards, but she estimated she only had a few minutes left before his office door would start to re-arm itself. She sped up the copying, aware that it might cost fine detail in the characters, but she had to finish.

As she crept from the office again, she hoped he would not be able to detect the intrusion; or, if he could, that it would not be obvious who had done it.

"It was necessary," she whispered to herself, as if needing the reassurance of the audible words as she made her way back to Ravenclaw tower.

* * *

Christmas morning was oddly subdued, given that she was alone in her dorm, the nearest Ravenclaw girl in age who had remained for the holiday being a fourth year who was several rooms away. Hermione had a small pile of presents at the end of her bed which had appeared during the light doze she had eventually fallen fitfully into, and with her bedcurtains still closed she could pretend that she was just a girl, opening presents from her friends. Olivia had given her a lovely green wool cardigan, Sophie a pair of silver hair barrettes. Phineas had gifted her with a Diluacus, sort of the magical equivalent of a slide rule, for use in Arithmancy. There was a box of Snow Bombs from Herecles Potter, a sweet confection from Honeydukes. Hermione eyed the remaining two presents. She read the tag on the one wrapped in red and green, and uncovered a copy of "Human Transfigurations: New Twists on Old Magic" by Falco Aesalon. Inside in the professor's neat script he had written, '_For Hermione, an excellent student in the subject, and with much hope for the future'_. What a typically cryptic thing for Professor Dumbledore to say!

The other parcel she opened with some hesitation. There was no note, but she knew who it was from, the silver paper and green ribbon leaving little doubt. She uncovered another book, this one very old, bound in red leather. There was no title embossed on the cover, and Hermione was instantly wary. Tom Riddle didn't exactly have the best history when it came to untitled books. She shook her head as she reached for her wand, reminded yet again of how screwed up everything was—that hadn't even happened yet, but she was certain he had already created the horcrux and had that diary hidden away, waiting to inject its poisonous thoughts into Ginny Weasley in the future.

Her stomach flipped uneasily as she remembered what he had done last night, in this very bed. She could feel those kisses, how gently but surely he had caressed her. It was such a confusing contrast to who she _knew_ he was! She opened the bedcurtains, suddenly feeling suffocated. The birch sprig on her dresser was a mocking reminder, and though she could not detect any scar on her palm, her fingers stroked it repeatedly as if to erase what had happened. Hermione had to force herself to breathe calmly, her brain sternly reminding the more emotional parts of her that she had a plan. The darkest wizard of all time had just bound her to himself, yes. She didn't know if that bond would persist when he died—something that she had to research right away. Tom Riddle was a force to be reckoned with at eighteen. It was little wonder he was as powerful as he was in her day…he was scarily gifted with magic. But she would find a way to break it. She was the smartest witch of her own age, or so she was told.

"This isn't helping anything," she said aloud, forcing herself to stop thinking about what she would do. She would talk to Professor Dumbledore the second he returned. In the meantime, she had to get through today. One day at a time.

It wasn't much, a pathetic resolution really, but it helped Hermione to focus on something other than the current Head Boy and his very twisted and dark destiny. She cast a few spells cautiously on the book, and nothing was triggered. _Hmmm_. She still didn't trust him. She carefully opened the book to see if there was an inscription, but nothing was there until she pressed her hand to the page. Then, Tom's careful script began to loop across the coverplate.

_Hermione, you are the only person who can read this, beside myself, of course. The pages will sense your blood, which is coursing even now through your fingertips, so close to the surface. I do hope you will dare to read it. Of course, it just makes my tasks that much easier if you do not. Still, I feel you have earned a fighting chance, perhaps… -T.R._

Hermione's eyes narrowed. He was _taunting_ her! She didn't know why she didn't expect that, and pressed her hand to the title page to see what he had deemed appropriate to give her. A very old handwritten printing appeared: **_Opus Magnum Maleficium_**. Hermione's breath hissed inward. This was _the_ worst of all banned tomes. It had been outlawed immediately after its publication sometime around the time of William the Conqueror, but it kept popping up, with addendums by various dark wizards and witches until it was practically the symbol of the Dark Arts. She snatched her hand away from the page as if burnt and put the book away, warding the drawer.

Tom had a much more placid start to his Christmas Day. The previous evening had been quite a pleasant present for the holiday, and the only thing left to prevent was Hermione running to Dumbledore. If he could keep that from happening, he was quite confident that he would get exactly the bond he wanted in the end. The blood bond was a necessary precaution, and it was a useful teaching tool. Hermione now had two choices—to rebel against him completely, which he would mercilessly crush, or to play along and look for some opportunity to break it. She was smart enough to not attempt the first, so she would default to the second. It was terribly convenient that Dumbledore was absenting himself more and more from the school. He wondered what Hermione may know about that, and resolved to wheedle that out of her at the next opportunity.

That decided, Tom opened the presents that had been left for him. He had given none, save the _Opus_ for Hermione. His followers gave him money, books, and a few magical artifacts. And then there was Hermione's gift. Tom knew instantly it was some type of pet by the covered cage, but he was surprised to find the magpie instead of an owl. He would have liked a snake, but the rules didn't allow for them, so that would have to wait.

"Hmmm, interesting choice, my dear," Tom said to the _in absentia_ witch that had been preoccupying his thoughts. "I wonder if you had any ulterior motive, or if this was simply an impulsive gesture?"

His wand flicked into his hand with a thought, and Tom walked around the bird in its cage, considering what to do. The bird watched him carefully, a positive sign of intelligence. Tom cast a few spells, one of which caused the bird to squawk in protest.

"You'd best not make that noise again, bird, or your tenure on this earth will be at an abrupt end."

At least satisfied that the bird was not bewitched, Tom finally turned his attention to the note from Hermione. '_Tom, I named him Ovid, but you can change that if you like. He is intelligent, annoying, and has a bit of a cruel streak-rather like someone else I know. Happy Christmas- H.'_

"An impulse gift, then." Tom raised an eyebrow at Ovid. An apt name for such a creature. "If you ever bite me, I will kill you. Do you understand?"

Ovid nodded twice. Intelligent. Good. "I'm taking you back to the Owlery. I expect I will have some correspondence for you to deliver by tomorrow. I will give you more explicit directions then."

Ovid blinked and Tom flicked the cage cover back on the birdcage. The bird could wait quietly in the dark until he was ready.

* * *

It was almost midday when Tom arrived at the door of the Ravenclaw common room. Dippet had wisely decided to let the houses have their fun this morning, with house elves delivering breakfast and the heads of houses serving as unofficial chaperones. Since Slughorn was absent, Tom had been asked to serve in that capacity in Slytherin, which had suited him quite nicely. The dozen Slytherins had celebrated their gifts in the restrained capacity he expected, and none of them had created any large messes for him to deal with.

"Mountains will crumble and temples will fall, and no man can survive its endless call. What is it?"

The brass knocker had never given him a riddle that challenged him, and today was no exception.

"Time," Tom snapped curtly. _How ironic_.

The door opened, and he stepped briskly through to the Ravenclaw common room. It was a scene of carnage, the five Ravenclaws at the school for the holiday all smiling or laughing, enjoying watching the youngest, a second year, attempting to gain control of a puffalump that he had received for Christmas. The room was littered with wrappers from sweets and a few fireworks were merrily fizzing away in a corner. If Tom had to bet, he'd guess Professor Beery had left an hour ago to head to the staff room for some celebratory libation or other with Swainswick.

"I've been sent to inform you that it is time for the feast," Tom said, his expression as relaxed as he ever portrayed. Hermione looked up and they locked gazes, Tom supremely confident, Hermione defiant. The younger students scurried to put away their new treasures lest they get in trouble with the Head Boy, and Hermione was alone briefly in her common room with Tom.

"Started reading your gift yet?" Tom asked complacently.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that _you_ have a copy of that, but if you think I will _read_ it…" Hermione began, but Tom silenced her with a single finger on her mouth.

"Now, now, pet, let's not ruin our Christmas with such talk. As degenerate as the book is claimed to be, it is _quite_ the authoritative source. But if you'd rather remain ignorant…"

Hermione's pulse had jumped when he touched her, and now she had to work hard to restrain her irritation. It wouldn't gain her anything except trouble to argue with him, but he would not taunt her into reading it, either.

"It is not about _ignorance_, it is about choosing to do what is _right_. I have no need for the magic in that text, so I choose not to read it."

The remaining Ravenclaws started to return to the common room then, so Hermione stopped talking and leapt away from Tom with a start. In full Head Boy mode, Tom eyed the one miscreant who was tardy returning, causing a flush to creep onto the boy's cheeks, before he turned and snapped his fingers toward the door. The students began to file out dutifully as Tom took Hermione's arm and tucked it into his own.

"You're very defensive about your decision, Hermione," he said softly as they walked down the stairs. "I wonder what that says?"

Hermione was annoyed again, more because she realized she felt comfortable with him like this than over the fact that he'd given her a banned Dark book that currently resided in her table drawer.

"It says I find you presumptuous, arrogant, and high-handed," Hermione replied coolly, trying to move forward through the doors of the Great Hall. She found her feet stuck to the floor, however, and turned to give him a further piece of her mind when she saw him pointing up. A sprig of magical mistletoe had crawled out of the archway, and that meant only one thing.

"You're never caught by magical mistletoe. Ever." Hermione's tone was flat, but it was a well known fact that despite numerous witches' attempts to linger by him during the month of December, he was _never_ caught by the kissing mistletoe.

"I guess I was due then," Tom said, tilting his head expectantly. The fact that all of the professors and students were watching simply added to the effect for him, Hermione supposed bitterly. She gave him as brief a kiss as the mistletoe would allow, but even that was sufficient to draw a few cheers from the students and a few professors at the table. She cursed the blush that hit her cheeks, but Tom took it all in stride as his due, the smug bastard.

"I can see I'll be owing Slughorn a galleon," Professor Swainswick said loudly enough for Hermione to overhear as they sat down. Her own head of house simply looked at her and Tom and almost shrugged as he tucked into the Christmas dinner that appeared on the table. Great. Unless Albus Dumbledore returned very soon, Hermione would find herself well boxed in, indeed.

* * *

The end of the Christmas holiday and beginning of the winter term saw a substantial, public change in the presumed relationship between Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger. Tom saw no value in continuing to coddle Hermione's sensibilities, so he began what was, for him, a subtle attempt to reshape her habits and patterns. The very day that their fellow students arrived back at the school, Tom informed her that she would be meeting him three times a week for study sessions.

"I will not," Hermione replied, ignoring his casual shrug of indifference when she refused, as if it didn't matter what she said. A group of seventh year Hufflepuffs strolled into the entrance hall, and Hermione lowered her voice. "Whatever sort of blood bond you've created, I am not chattel. I see no reason to change my study habits to suit whatever dark purposes you have."

"Why Hermione, how terribly unfeeling of you. Perhaps I just want to spend more time in your company," Tom said lightly, keeping his eyes trained on a struggling third year Gryffindor who was attempting, and failing, to levitate a spectacularly overloaded valise.

"That's complete rubbish," Hermione said. "I've told you before, _Tom_, that I won't let you separate me from my friends. I will not be controlled by you, blood bond or not."

She didn't bother to mention that she was already diligently searching for a way to break it, because he would take that for granted. Tom turned his head to look at her briefly.

"I've already told you, _Hermione_. It's not my control that you need to worry about. It's your own lack of it. And I will remedy that little flaw."

"You're impossible!" Hermione threw up her hands, and finally Tom gave her his complete attention, the Gryffindor fifth year prefect finally helping his struggling housemate.

"My dear Hermione, you will soon realize that there are very few things which are impossible for me."

He caught her easily by the wrist when she started to turn away from him, and had her pressed against him and his lips on hers before she could blink. He broke it off when he heard a few catcalls, and coolly looked over to see some older Gryffindors watching them. Hermione caught the flushed face of Herecles Potter among them, and wrenched her wrist away from Tom, walking away swiftly. Damn that man anyway!

* * *

Since that day, Hermione had found Tom making good on his threat. He had planted himself in her usual spot in the library, and every day since it had been a game to avoid both him and his lackeys. Hermione felt Tom was being far too controlling and thus went out of her way to avoid him as much as possible, eschewing her regular practices of studying with her classmates in the library in favor of studying in the Ravenclaw common room. Although Tom technically had the authority to gain entry, it was the _de facto_ practice of the prefects to leave the common rooms of other houses unbreached unless they had a pressing reason to go in.

They were still having to put up with a substitute in Professor Dumbledore's Transfiguration classes. Tom suspected he could wheedle the location of the Transfiguration professor out of Dippet if he really wanted to, but that would defeat his purposes. It would not do for Dumbledore to learn that he had been inquiring about him, however obliquely.

"She's still in the Ravenclaw common room," Evan said quietly as Tom stopped by him briefly in the hall outside Ravenclaw tower during their second week back.

Tom nodded, then raised an eyebrow. "Suffice it to say, there will be another change in her habits shortly. I want to speak to you and Abraxas. I will see both of you at 7 pm."

Evan bowed curtly and Tom went on his way. He had to speak to MacNair about a different item of concern. Quidditch practices were resuming this week. Tom wanted to ensure Abelard knew exactly what was riding on the successful completion of the task he had set him in the fall.

In the Ravenclaw common room, Hermione was doing her best to entertain herself by studying the time travel notes. She had already read the book she had checked out from the library which contained any sort of reference to the subject. The fact that Phineas and Olivia were unwilling to change their study location simply because Hermione was sticking more to the common room actually suited her in this respect. Hermione pushed away the notes, a headache looming. The magical theory was incomplete, in addition to being the most complex she'd ever studied. At this rate it would take her a year simply to get the gist of the theory of time travel, let alone approach practical applications. Hermione glanced around the room, hoping for a distraction. The few younger students who were working on assignments at the desks and tables scattered around the room didn't want any help, however. Apparently this was the downside of the most studious house.

Her mind flitted to the _Maleficium_ that was still warded away in her drawer. Tom had seemed pleased by her refusal to read it. Did that mean he was serious about her ignorance making whatever nefarious tasks he had set himself easier? Or was he trying to use reverse psychology to spur her to read it, and corrupt herself? Hermione scoffed at that line of reasoning. She did not believe that knowledge itself was corrupting. Rather, it was what you did with that knowledge that mattered. Therefore, if the book was not cursed, then it should be safe to read. In theory.

The very large question mark was whether she was capable of detecting what Tom might have done to the book. He was already capable of magic that she had never seen anyone else perform, like disapparating within Hogwarts itself. Her blood ran cold as she realized that it was only luck and Lily Potter's sacrifice that had saved the entire wizarding world the first time Voldemort had started his war. He really was the most talented wizard of his time, his raw magical power unsurpassed. She wondered if Dumbledore would be willing to confront him now, rather than wait, if she forced him to deal with the memories she had of the future. It would be grossly unethical, but Hermione was feeling increasingly desperate. She was quite certain that the spell Tom had cast on her in the Forbidden Forest prevented her from speaking about the blood bond, so all she had left were her memories that she had guarded from him. She felt in danger of losing herself, and she didn't want to think about how a tiny part of her was possibly willing to be lost.


	18. The Three Professors

**Good evening. I know some of you were hoping for something from Tom's birthday in the story, but I don't think Tom and Hermione are at the sharing & caring stage yet. I doubt Tom publicized his birthday. A few of you are also hoping Hermione regains some sort of equal footing or power in the relationship. I've already said this to a few of you in PMs, but they have different strengths and they are each playing to their strengths. How Hermione will deal with Tom will have to come out as the story progresses-it's pretty obvious on one level how he intends to deal with her, but on the other hand, some of his motives are still obscure. There will be a balance that emerges between them, but where the fulcrum lies...ah, that is the question. So if you're hoping for Hermione to get her own back, be patient.**

**I will warn you that we will be moving consistently in the story now at a pace of weeks as opposed to day by day, so get ready for a change of pace. I believe their interplay is sufficiently established to allow this change. This chapter is longer because it seemed to all go together. **

**Relatela, glad you are still enjoying the moves forward. A few anonymous reviewers, thank you for commenting! Ovid will be in and out of the tale in the future. I do plan to finish this. I despise abandoned stories, especially with a set crew of dedicated readers & reviewers. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_February 2, 1975_

_"Professor Slughorn, how good of you to come." Eugenia Malfoy accepted the air kisses the potions master offered, a genial if somewhat guarded expression on his face._

_"Professor," Abraxas offered, shaking his former teacher's hand easily. "I'm pleased to welcome you to my home."_

_"Delighted to accept the invitation, Abraxas, delighted," Slughorn replied, taking in the other assorted company. He seemed to be looking for someone in particular, and there was no mistaking the relief that crossed his face when he did not see him. Abraxas gestured toward the ballroom._

_"Come, Horace. I'm sure there's a spot suitable for you—perhaps near the Minister."_

_The wedding of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black was indeed elegant, refined, and everything that reflected the upper echelons of wizarding society. Horace reflected to himself that his gift of the Fecundity potion would be more than sufficient as a gift. _

_"Lord knows the ingredients are rare enough!" he quipped to himself as he selected another canapé from the tray being proffered by a house elf as the lavish reception unfolded. _

_"Ah, you gave the Fecundity potion, I take it?" _

_Slughorn managed to swallow the canapé, although it was a near thing as he almost choked on it, and then darted a glance at his former student._

_"Yes, I did. Seemed appropriate for the occasion, you know."_

_"Quite."_

_The word was clipped, polite, but Horace somehow felt compelled to continue talking before Tom…er, Voldemort could sway the conversation in a more dangerous direction._

_"I hear you refused a position on the Wizengamot," he offered, taking a healthy swallow of his champagne and stealing a glance at the wizard as he did so. Whatever had caused Tom Riddle to go off the track was spectacular to have caused such effects. He resolutely ignored the twinges of a long suppressed conscience and waited for Tom to speak._

_"I think we both know that would be insufficient for my talents and skills," Voldemort replied, swiveling his gaze to his former Potions professor. "I am disappointed that you haven't attended one of my little gatherings, Horace. I believe Evan invited you?"_

_"Well, I am terribly busy with my teaching commitments, as you know Tom…" he trailed off at the flash of anger on Tom's face, so he continued hastily, "Tell me, what should your *old* potions professor call you nowadays? I am really quite buried in that basement—difficult to keep up with what is going on outside of Hogwarts, don't you know."_

_A gleam entered Lord Voldemort's eyes, and Slughorn was profoundly grateful when the man grabbed a flute of champagne from a floating tray and took a sip, studying him openly. Finally, he spoke._

_"Tell me, Horace, does Herbert Beery still teach Herbology? I confess, I have not paid much attention to Hogwarts. Unpleasant reminders of my last year do persist, don't they?"_

_Slughorn's mind turned uneasily. There was no question that the enmity between Tom and Albus had been well sown during that tempestuous spring, but so much time had passed since then…surely he wasn't still bitter about Hermione? Despite the risk, he decided to ask guardedly about the subject._

_"Surely that's all water under the bridge now, is it not? It has been thirty years…"_

_Voldemort's eyes flashed dangerously. "Tell me, Professor, would you find it appropriate to speak of events and persons of that year under any circumstances? Because I would be more than unhappy if I heard anyone speaking of them. ANYONE."_

_Horace swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "I wouldn't dream of speaking of any of that. Practically able to vow on the subject, it's so far removed from my mind."_

_"What an excellent idea," Voldemort said smoothly, too smoothly. Too late, Horace realized that he'd been well played. _

_"If you insist…"_

_"Oh, but I do," Voldemort said, gesturing toward the hall. "Shall we adjourn to Abraxas' study? He is more than willing to be the bonder."_

* * *

It was the end of the first week back before there was another Quidditch match. This time it was between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, and Hermione resolved to attend in order to a) escape Tom, and b) support Herecles. Her housemates were aghast when she said she was going to cheer for Gryffindor, and insisted that such things just weren't done.

"Hermione, that just isn't on! Everyone knows you are a friend of Herecles Potter, but house unity must come before personal friendships," Phineas insisted, donning a rather ancient looking hat that happened to be in Ravenclaw colors.

"Phineas is right, Hermione. It wouldn't be proper at all to do that. People would draw all sorts of incorrect conclusions, not least of which would be that you're interested in him! I'd hate to think what Tom Riddle would make of that," Olivia said, winding her Ravenclaw scarf around her neck.

_That would be an EXCELLENT incentive to do it_, Hermione thought to herself, but at the same time she recognized that she would be setting Herecles up for another run-in with the Slytherins, and this time it would definitely be nastier given Tom's feelings. _Ha, as if he HAS any feelings for anyone other than himself!_ she thought bitterly, but decided to placate her friends and protect Herecles in the process.

"Fine, I won't sit with Gryffindor—but I am cheering for Herecles personally. I don't care what other people make of it, he's a good friend."

Phineas and Olivia exchanged a look, but by this time they had known Hermione long enough to realize the futility of arguing with her when she got that mutinous expression on her face.

"Let's go then," Phineas said, and they trooped off, joining the streams of students all filling the Quidditch stadium to capacity. Everyone was interested in this game, seeing as how it had been so long since one had been held due to the foul weather before Christmas.

"This is going to be a great game!" Olivia said excitedly, and Hermione thought she was probably right. Even their dour prefect, Percival Wethering, was wearing as much in the house colors as he could. The first quarter passed easily, with each team scoring at a fair rate. Hermione caught one glimpse of Herecles as he and the Ravenclaw Seeker darted off after the Snitch, but it vanished again before either could catch it and the game continued. There was the usual carnage from Bludgers, and one of the Gryffindor Beaters had to be taken off due to a broken arm. Hermione could imagine the fuss Madame Duvalle would make, and found herself cheering when Ravenclaw passed Gryffindor again, raising the score to 70-60.

"Look, there's Professor Dumbledore!" Olivia shouted, pointing to the Transfiguration professor, who was wrapped in warm, if bright, yellow robes which contrasted with his auburn hair, standing and conversing with the headmaster while keeping one eye on the game.

"Thank Rowena he's back. I'm sick of boring lessons in Transfiguration," Phineas said—a rare complaint indeed from the mellow boy.

"I need to speak with him," Hermione said, determined to not be cowardly about telling him all that had transpired between herself and the Head Boy. She would find _some_ way of doing so. True, she had been unable to even bring quill to parchment to broach the subject, but surely he would be persuaded to at least _look _in her mind!

"I'm sure he'll be happy to see you, Hermione. You are related to him, if only through second cousins," Olivia said offhandedly, her eyes looking for the Snitch. "Oh, I think I see it! And look, Herecles has spotted it too!"

Hermione craned her head and saw the telltale glint of the Snitch, and there was Herecles Potter, dashing after it, the reflected light from the snow throwing him into shadow. She could have been watching Harry at a game, his alacrity with a broom very reminiscent of her friend. The Ravenclaw Seeker had spotted it too, and was darting toward the Snitch. Herecles definitely had the edge, though, and Hermione yelled, "Go, Herecles!" causing a few of her classmates to stare at her. She ignored them, though, happy for a moment as she recalled how Harry had always felt when he won a game. She wanted that for her friend.

"What is happening?" Phineas said. He was the first to notice, but he wasn't the last. A collective gasp went up from the stadium as it became apparent that Herecles Potter was losing control of his broom, the steep dive he was in impossible to pull out of with the way his broom had started shivering and shaking.

"Give me those!" Hermione cried, snatching a pair of Omnioculars from a classmate and focusing on Herecles quickly. The broom seemed to be shredding itself, pieces of the handle splintering off and the whole tail falling apart.

"Someone help him!"

Hermione thrust the eyewear back to the girl who was angrily demanding them back, drawing her wand and trying to figure out what to cast.

"Hermione, look! Professor Dumbledore!"

Hermione's eyes flew to the Transfiguration professor, who had already drawn his own wand and was plying it with alacrity, an alarmed expression on the face of Headmaster Dippet beside him.

"His broom's falling apart!"

"No way he'll stay up like that—"

"Dumbledore is casting something, dunno if it'll save him—"

Hermione saw that Dumbledore was focused on keeping Herecles airborne, but it looked to be a losing battle. Professor Hooch was racing toward the Gryffindor on her broom, but she wouldn't get there in time if he fell. Hermione looked at what was below Herecles, running through the crowded stands with wordless repulsion charms to shove students out of her way. She had one shot if Dumbledore couldn't keep that broom together, and she was betting it wouldn't last much longer.

"_Flexilis pila!_" she cried, the spell darting out powerfully to hit the wooden stand just as Herecle's broom finally pulled apart and he tumbled fifty feet down, hitting the wooden tower and, unbelievably, bouncing back up as if it were a trampoline. He hadn't a chance to bounce again, Dumbledore and Hooch simultaneously catching him with dual _Levicorpus_ spells, then bringing him down to the pitch floor. The stands erupted in cheers, and Hermione felt the pats and one armed hugs of students around her. Hufflepuffs, she thought, as Professor Dumbledore, who had conscripted a broom from a Ravenclaw beater, flew over and caught her eye.

"That was well done, Hermione. You spared Mr. Potter a very unhappy end to his Quidditch career."

"It was nothing, Professor. I wasn't the only one casting spells to save him."

Professor Dumbledore nodded curtly, and whisked off to see to his student. Hermione looked at the stands across, which happened to be packed with Slytherins. Not Tom, of course, he never came to games that didn't involve his House, but Hermione saw enough of his followers to know that he would be informed about what had happened. She raised her chin when Abraxas Malfoy caught her eye, one eyebrow raised mockingly, and then turned her attention back to the pitch. Herecles Potter was grinning like the fool he was, to celebrate such a brush with death! He saluted Hermione cheekily, causing another roar of approval from the Gryffindor section of the stands. Hermione felt her cheeks flush and was quite sure that Abraxas noted it. _Damn_.

* * *

Hermione was in the Ravenclaw common room that evening when she felt an uncomfortable sensation, like pins and needles. She gasped involuntarily and stood up, her papers slightly disarrayed by her haste.

"Are you okay Hermione?" Phineas asked, looking up from the Herbology paper he was working on. The atmosphere in Ravenclaw house had been subdued that afternoon after the Quidditch loss, and Hermione had not been able to speak to Dumbledore yet. Presumably he was dealing with his house's celebrations as well as the Beater with the broken arm and the investigations of the broom accident. Obviously, her time was up with Tom. She grimaced as the sensation intensified, then quickly explained her need to leave to Phineas.

"Yes, um, I just remembered, I have to send an owl. I had better go do that before curfew."

Phineas looked puzzled, but it was not an uncommon evening task so he thought nothing further of it. Hermione left the common room quickly, the sensation that was crawling through her blood very uncomfortable.

"Damn you Tom Riddle," she hissed under her breath, wondering where he would be. She headed down the tower stairs as fast as possible, electing to use the shortcut Professor Beery had shown her to save time. Room of Requirement? She paused, taking a few precious seconds to think. It was a _blood_ bond. She should be able to work with that. Ignoring the sense of panic and itchiness that was trying to overtake her senses, Hermione drew her wand and improvised a variant of the "Point Me" charm. She felt it settle, then there was a definite tug. _Up_. She took the stairs two at a time, allowing the charm to guide her. She recognized the way, it was the Room of Requirement. Thankful that she was almost there, she passed three times before the door, then opened it and entered, her heart pounding.

"Ah, Hermione. How good of you join us."

Lord Voldemort stood at the center of a darkened room, torchlight along the walls providing intermittent shadows and light. His Knights were all kneeling obsequiously, but Tom's attention was firmly fixed on her. "Come."

Internally Hermione cursed him for putting her under such a leash, but right now she had to satisfy the bond before she could fully focus on keeping him out of her mind. She walked forward, aware that all of the boys' eyes were on her.

"Kneel." The command was soft, but Hermione was resistant still, and forcefully ignored the howling of her blood.

"No." She raised her chin defiantly, but Lord Voldemort was definitely not amused. His wand flicked once, and her knees hit the hard stone floor with a force that surely bruised.

"That's better. Now, Hermione, please explain to me your behavior at the Quidditch match today."

Hermione noticed that he wouldn't let her touch him yet. _Bastard_. "I saved a classmate's life."

"Indeed. A very particular classmate, pet. Why would you do such a thing?"

"Because it was the right thing to do," she said through clenched teeth. Her blood was on fire now, and he knew it, his eyes hooded but amused in the brief glance she allowed herself before continuing to stare at his knees.

"And you would have done such a thing for anyone, wouldn't you, Hermione?" he asked, gripping her chin firmly at last to force her to look up at him. Hermione closed her eyes as the blissful relief of his touch flowed through her, wanting to keep him out of her head.

"Yes, I would have."

Voldemort kept her chin in his hand, but his attention was clearly on his followers. "You see how accommodating Miss Girard is when she is asked nicely? And to come so obediently too. You are quite the nice prize, Hermione. Now, just one more thing—I want to see what happened today."

Hermione's eyes flew open, and without a word he was in her mind, easily blowing past the Occlumency walls she had only half-erected. She began to fight him, and he tightened his grip on her chin, as well as the force of magic he was pouring into her. He was twisting the blood bond to do it, and she fought back in the same manner. She felt the migraine beginning, but she limited him to only seeing today, the spell she cast, Herecles bouncing in the air, Dumbledore's compliment. When he pulled out she collapsed at his feet, her head shrieking with pain from the resistance she had given him.

"You see, my Knights? Even the most recalcitrant and worthy magical opponents will eventually fall to me. You may go, Hermione," he said, as if she were in any position to do so. He waited a beat and then said, "Oh, but of course. You really should stop fighting me, dear. It gains you nothing but further pain."

He turned to survey his Knights. "Gibbon. See Miss Girard back to her common room."

Hermione pulled her magic tightly into herself. She'd be damned if she'd allow herself to be escorted like a damn trophy.

"I can see myself out, _Tom_," she said, forcing herself to stand. To prove her point, she gave a mocking nod before she turned toward the door. _One foot, then the other, that's the way._

She didn't hear Voldemort as he said, "That, gentlemen, is admirable conduct in the face of a lost battle."

* * *

Three days later Hermione was summoned from the common room by her head of house.

"Ah, Hermione. Just the student I wanted to speak with. Would you mind accompanying me to my office please?"

Hermione sent her book to her room and walked quietly with Professor Beery down the stairs and down the hall to the professor's office.

"What do you need, Professor?" she asked once they were seated in his office. It was the first time Hermione had actually seen the Herbology professor's office, and it was littered with small potted plants and leaf and seed prints which writhed inside their frames on the wall.

"Well, Hermione, I have to inform you of a change in your dormitory arrangements," Professor Beery began, and for a second Hermione felt the stirrings of panic, certain that Tom had somehow arranged for her to have a dorm room by herself.

"It has to do with your roommate Sophie Patrocine. Miss Patrocine has been withdrawn from the school for the remainder of the term, due to a betrothal contract. Thus, yourself and Miss Tynwyn will be deprived of your friend. I am sorry that her parents have chosen to withdraw her, but these things do happen."

Hermione released the breath she had been holding, realizing that Professor Beery was looking expectantly at her. "But Professor, surely it would be advantageous for her husband if Sophie finished her schooling."

Professor Beery sighed and sat back. "I realize that our House is populated with witches who possess an uncommon amount of brains, Hermione, but the fact is that most wizards are more interested in bloodlines and household charms work than they are in a highly educated wife. You know as well as I that this is not an uncommon happenstance during seventh year. At least we deal with it less in this House—no fewer than two Hufflepuffs and three Slytherins have been withdrawn for similar reasons."

Hermione knew it was pointless to argue. It was just another backward part of being out of time. She was so thankful that she had been born and raised at a time when things were more progressive for witches.

"May I ask, to whom is she now betrothed?"

Hermione didn't really expect Professor Beery to answer her, but she had forgotten how gossipy the professors were in this era. Student privacy was an unheard of concept, due to the small, insular nature of the wizarding world.

"Oh yes, I expect you know him. One of the Slytherins in your year—Abelard MacNair."

"Excuse me?" She was sure she had heard right, but Professor Beery nodded.

"Yes, not something anyone was expecting, but so many of these marriages are arranged between the parents. I'm sure they will get on well enough. Off with you now, and do let me know if you and Olivia have any problems adjusting, will you? I'm sure if you pair get lonely we could rearrange the sixth years."

"Thank you, sir. I'm sure that won't be necessary."

Inside she was putting together the pieces, and only one person could be responsible. There was little doubt that Tom Riddle had something to do with this, and she intended to find out exactly what he had done.

True to form, Tom was in the library, Abraxas Malfoy cloistered with him in quiet conversation.

"What did you have to do with Sophie's betrothal?" Hermione asked baldly as she approached them both. Abraxas leaned back from the table and shot a glance at Tom, who tilted his head imperceptibly, granting him permission to remain.

"Why would you think I had anything to do with that?" Tom asked, and Abraxas leaned back in his chair after another glance at Tom, convinced he was about to be entertained.

"None of them—" here Hermione darted a scornful look at Abraxas Malfoy, who merely raised an eyebrow at her, "—dare to so much as sneeze without your permission, so I doubt Abelard MacNair has consented to an engagement without your blessing," Hermione spat.

"Even if that were true, why would this concern you?" Tom asked rather pointedly, his tone remaining cool in that insufferable manner he had of dealing with petulance.

"You know perfectly well that the practice of withdrawing witches from school before they graduate is an archaic hangover from the Middle Ages, and it bears no practical fruit other than forcing her under someone's thumb that much sooner," she hissed.

Tom stood up easily, his robes flowing downward in a manner that was surely charmed. Hermione stood her ground, allowing him to step toe to toe, face to face. If she had dared to steal another look at Abraxas Malfoy, she would have seen how very entertained he was, but all of her attention was focused on Tom Riddle, her nemesis.

"Tell me, Abraxas, where is Eugenia residing now?" Tom asked, and Hermione could practically hear the smirk in his voice when he replied, "At the Manor, of course. Mother is ever so pleased to have her there to see to the wedding details."

Hermione could read something other than amusement at her expense lurking in Tom's eyes. It was a hint of malice, and she realized why Sophie in particular had been removed.

"You're punishing her, aren't you? For that incident in Knockturn Alley. And I suppose MacNair had something to do with the Quidditch incident?"

Her voice was low, but Tom heard her. The corner of his mouth turned up slightly, and he ran his thumb down her cheek. "Now, I knew you would determine the correct outcome, Hermione. Really, you should have thought before you said anything. I'm disappointed."

"You're delighted to have the opportunity to demonstrate your hold over me to one of your best pets," Hermione whispered harshly, and Tom did smile at that.

"Yes, there is that. You are refreshingly direct in your methods of communicating with me, Hermione. Now, would you like to practice some of the hexes which Merrythought has set for our next DADA class?"

"I don't need tips from the likes of you," Hermione retorted, this time loud enough for Abraxas to hear.

"Tsk tsk. And here I thought you wanted to be the best, Hermione—besides me, of course."

Hermione ignored his taunt and turned on her heel to leave. As she walked away, she threw over her shoulder,

"Pride goes before a fall, Tom Riddle!" She had an owl to send to Professor Dumbledore.

"Yet another lesson from my crystal ball," Tom mused to himself, then turned back to Abraxas. "I believe you and Rosier have an appointment with me this evening. Do be sure to bring your owls."

Abraxas, realizing he'd been dismissed, gathered his parchment and books and left a pensive Dark Lord in the library. For himself, he had another interesting tale to relate to his personal diary.

* * *

"Miss Girard, rather early to be trimming the venomous tarantaculas, isn't it?"

Hermione looked up at her head of house briefly, seemed about to say something, then returned to her careful pruning. Professor Beery waited another minute, and finally Hermione said, "You mentioned that it had to be done, sir. It seemed like a good morning for it."

Given that Herbert had spent the better part of breakfast dancing between Albus' suspicions about the Head Boy and Horace's praise of him, he had little doubt what exactly had sent one of his favorite new students scurrying to the greenhouses early this morning.

"And you are correct, it is a good morning for it," Professor Beery began, catching Hermione's hand with the pruners before she could lop off a fruiting branch. "But I would prefer if you would tell me about what is troubling you instead of pruning off the fruiting bodies on the plants."

That seemed to grab her attention, and Hermione looked at the pruned pieces to verify that she hadn't actually cut off any yet. She wouldn't meet his eyes, but she put down the pruners and stepped away from the bench.

"I don't know what to do," Hermione said quietly, turning toward the windows of the greenhouse and wrapping her arms around herself.

Herbert eyed the petite witch carefully and refrained from sighing visibly. This was the unspoken difficult part of the job of being a head of house. "Would you be referring to the Head Boy and the unfortunate event with Herecles Potter during the Quidditch match?"

"Look, Professor Dumbledore is right to be suspicious of Tom," Hermione began as she turned back to face the professor, but stopped out of frustration, then began afresh. "He's not exactly the nicest person, and in fact I have seen him be crueler than I have ever seen before. But he…"

Hermione stopped again, because she didn't want to say it out loud, didn't want to give voice to the treacherous thoughts that were battling with her common sense inside her head. _He's terribly compelling_, her inner voice whispered.

"He can be very charming, and he's extremely attentive to you—and you find those attentions heady, and pleasing."

Hermione's eyes flicked up to meet the professor's finally, and he was relieved by the stark honesty in them. "Yes, that is it precisely"

"There is nothing wrong with finding someone who is talented and intelligent attractive, Hermione." Professor Beery's tone was matter of fact, although he was repeating advice very similar to that he had given before Christmas to Albus. However, this time he was able to offer different advice, thankfully.

"But how I could _tolerate_, much less _enjoy_, his attentions, when I know he has this other, unbelievably _evil_ side to him?" Hermione's voice quavered, and she turned briefly back to the window, ashamed of saying it out loud.

Professor Beery was quite certain that her appellations were the standard hormonal teenager descriptors that he heard at least twice weekly in his office once relationships started forming from the fourth year onward, and thus he paid no more than the usual heed he would give such vituperations. Nonetheless, the female students of Ravenclaw were perhaps just a tad more liable to overthink their personal affairs, and Hermione was perfectly suited to her house in this fashion. He began carefully, aware that his female students were far more emotionally invested in their school age relationships than many of their male peers.

"We do ourselves a great disservice when we attempt to distill our feelings into simple right and wrong. Part of the beauty of emotions is that they are full of all of the things that do not fit precisely into simple categories. I would caution you to apply a just weight when you are asking yourself how you could feel something for another human being. Regardless of aspects of others' characters which we might find repulsive, there is something highly admirable about finding things in them to respect and admire as well."

The professor's warm brown eyes were bounded by slightly raised eyebrows, and Hermione nodded to indicate she had heard him. But he didn't know the magnitude of Tom's future sins! She tried again to obliquely convey how deeply troubling she found her feelings for him.

"Sir, it's just that a leopard can't change its spots, can it? And to care for a leopard and not expect it to attack you—that would be foolish in the extreme."

The professor's gaze was momentarily clouded as he drew a comparison that was even now wrenching someone very close to him. "You are correct insofar as a wise person does not expect the leopard to be other than what it is. However, there is no shame in admitting that what the leopard does has a certain beauty of its own, even grace. To admire or appreciate that is no sin."

Hermione took a deep breath. Analogies were all very well, but this boy was going to become the worst Dark wizard known. "Professor, that doesn't mean that you try to mate with it. A wise person avoids the leopard."

Professor Beery chuckled slightly. "Yes, it is an imperfect analogy, I grant you. But let me ask you—is the leopard always preoccupied with the kill? Are there other times in its life when it focuses its attention on other things?"

A blush suffused Hermione's cheeks, and she turned back to the cool glass of the windows, tracing the frost patterns on the windowpane as a means of distracting herself from the professor's unwelcome insight. "If one doesn't wish to encourage the leopard's depradations, it would seem imprudent to encourage its survival, Professor."

Professor Beery sighed deeply. "Hermione, perhaps it is those very real and human other needs which are all that stands between some individuals and the creep of the unsavory; the Dark that would overcome them if they were left to their own natural inclinations. If you have found something worthwhile in Mr. Riddle, such things are to be encouraged, not smothered. Believe me, the consequences of attempting the latter can be far beyond what you fear from pursuing them."

Hermione turned back to him, suddenly annoyed by his pragmatic advice. "What would you know of it? You have no idea what he does, how he manipulates people to suit himself. He is a consummate actor for the audience, but in private he is something else altogether. You have no idea what he is like!"

Herbert Beery fervently wished that Albus would truly _talk_ to this girl. The struggles she described were exactly what Albus was facing with Gellert. He felt oddly inadequate to the task, as if her struggles were deeper than the usual nonsense from one of his house finding the conniving and manipulative nature of a Slytherin to be wildly attractive. He brushed aside that errant thought, certain that Albus' suffering was influencing his reading of her teenage melodrama.

"I'm sure I don't. But I do know that you do yourself a grave disservice if you believe that ignoring your feelings will benefit you. Feelings have a terrible way of overwhelming us at the worst moment if we do not deal with them adequately. I do hope you will remember that before you find yourself hurting those you love unintentionally."

* * *

Hermione was thanking Merlin, Nimue, and all other famous witches and wizards for the wonders of headache potion the next morning as she made her way out of her Arithmancy class. She had studied the notes on time travel until late in the night, and they made scant little more sense than they had before she began.

"Hey!"

Hermione stopped in the hallway and turned, an easy smile on her face as Herecles Potter came bounding up to her. "I didn't have a chance yet to say thank you. Madame Duvalle says you spared me a trip to St. Mungo's at the very least!"

"I hardly think it was just me. Dumbledore and Hooch were both casting on you too. I just happened to get the bounce," Hermione said, but Herecles brushed that aside.

"You were the only student smart enough to react. Well done, and I say that as someone whose arse you saved."

"You're welcome. I would have done it for anyone," she admitted, and Herecles laughed.

"I figured. Nonetheless, I'd like to pay you back. Would you let me buy you lunch on the next Hogsmeade trip? There's a new tea shop opening, I could take you there."

"Ah, Mr. Potter. Aren't you going to be late for Divination?" Tom's voice was arctic, and the hand he slipped around Hermione's waist was purely possessive.

Hermione could see that Herecles was about to open his mouth and say something very unwise, so she leapt into the split second of silence. "Thank you, Herecles, but maybe you could just buy me a Butterbeer sometime and we'll call it good, okay?"

Both men recognized her ploy for what it was: an attempt to navigate an impassible breach. Nonetheless, Herecles had the grace to be a gentleman, and nodded his head. "I'd like that. See you around, Hermione."

"No, I don't think you will," Tom said as Herecles walked away, a deadly menace in his tone. "Now, let me accompany you to the library. This is your free period."

Hermione had planned to see Professor Dumbledore, but she knew better than to say that to Tom. She would have to try later, if she could get away from her bodyguards. Failing that, she would resort to sending another owl, and beg Dumbledore to set the appointment with her. She couldn't refuse an appointment from a professor, and Tom knew it.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore would not consider himself inclined toward a suspicious nature, but the older he got, the more his friends and acquaintances told him that he did possess one. Lately even Herbert had been on him about it, urging him to talk to Hermione Girard more. He had pointed out that Hermione was facing a difficult situation with Tom, and Albus was the best person to offer advice. After the wards of his office were disturbed during his absence, he was more inclined toward suspicion and less inclined toward trusting an unknown girl from the future. His eyes glanced toward the clock on the wall—nearly time for her appointment. He admitted that Herbert was correct, he might be required to step in and take more direct action. The pressure from other quarters was too great to wish to do so, however. He exhaled heavily—if he had that matter behind him, it would be far easier to focus on what Tom Riddle may be doing with Miss Girard. A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts, and he smoothed out the creases in his forehead with conscious effort as he opened his office door.

"Ah, Hermione. Please, come in."

Hermione took a seat in Professor Dumbledore's office, hoping that she would be able to communicate what needed to be said.

"Professor, I requested to speak with you about Tom Riddle. I have infor—" Hermione's voice simply stopped working, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then began again. "I would like to request that you look in my mind. Please."

Professor Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "Hermione, am I correct in understanding that you are requesting that I perform Legilimency on you?"

"Yes, Professor. It's extremely important that you do so," Hermione urged, and a worried expression crossed Dumbledore's face.

"This is a very dangerous thing you request, Miss Girard. Your mind is full of information that I dare not possess. I'm afraid I must be convinced that there is a very compelling reason for me to do so, otherwise I must decline." His face was grave, his tone serious, and Hermione leaned forward in her chair.

"Professor, please. I would not ask it of you if I did not know it to be a matter of dire importance. My…_beau_ has been…more than amorous in his pursuits, Professor. Please. Let me show you!" Hermione was begging now, deathly afraid that he wouldn't do it, and she would be back on her own again. She was losing, and she needed help.

"Simply tell me, Miss Girard. Surely that would be best!" A bit of irritation had crept into his voice, and Albus Dumbledore regretted it. Whoever she was and whatever she might be up to, she didn't deserve his ire.

"I can't do that!" Hermione burst out, then stood suddenly and paced. "Don't you think I would if I could? That I would have put it in the note I sent requesting to see you?"

Professor Dumbledore's expression was troubled, but he acquiesced. The only reason he could think of which would prevent her speaking of it would be a curse, which would of itself be detectable.

"Hermione, would you permit me to test you for some type of curse? It would not hurt, but I would like to know what I am dealing with here." His tone was measured, but this whole discussion had thrown into glaring relief a problem which he had not thought of when she arrived. Even if he did pick up a Dark curse of some kind, it could have been in place when she arrived. Madame Duvalle would not have checked for such a thing beyond what required immediate healing, so any latent curses could have gone undetected.

"Of course, Professor Dumbledore," she said, glad that he finally understood what she was trying to say, but could not.

Dumbledore drew out his wand and cast a complicated series of spells, the purple glow telling him all he needed to know. He ceased casting and looked at Hermione frankly, a furrow in his brow. "You have a curse on you, my dear. Did you know this?"

"I suspected, Professor. I can't tell you—" Hermione was so relieved that he knew, that he was now finally on the same page and could do something to help her! Professor Dumbledore was clearly troubled by this news, and cut her off.

"Very well, Miss Girard, I understand. I will attempt to see what is causing you such distress. Please, sit down."

Her gratitude was written plainly on her face, and Dumbledore frowned internally. This was a very dangerous situation, and he was extremely wary of treading in to this girl's mind.

"Have you had any training in Occlumency, perchance?" Dumbledore asked, looking into her clear brown eyes.

"Yes." Her answer was confident, and this gave him pause, too. What on earth could call for a teenage girl to be taught Occlumency? He mentally fortified his own mental shields before he brought his wand up.

"Please try to put forward only your recent memories from your time here," he instructed. "Legilimens."

Hermione could feel him enter her mind, a gentle intrusion that was nothing like Tom's forceful entry. She had put forward all her recent memories of her time with Tom: the blood bond, the Legilimency attempts, his ability to disapparate within Hogwarts. However, she couldn't actually feel Professor Dumbledore reaching them. Every time he moved toward them, it was as if a gelatinous wall blurred them out, making them impossible to touch or hold onto.

For his part, Albus Dumbledore had never seen such a natural Occlumens. He could see the thread of her memories, but he could not grasp it, no matter how he chased them in the shifting, sticky miasma of her mind. He placed his hand on her shoulder at some point, and when she wriggled beneath it after another failed try to see what she wanted to show him, he withdrew, then sat back with one hip on his desk.

"Hermione," he called, and watched her come back into her conscious self. He studied her carefully, looking for any sign of artifice. He found none, which was comforting, because Hermione Girard represented quite possibly a very dangerous wrinkle in time. He hoped nothing would necessitate…but he was leaping ahead of himself.

"Professor, I was trying to show you—" she began, but he cut her off again with a wave of his hand.

"I am aware, Hermione. The curse on you is complex, and it is preventing you from showing me anything that would reveal who cast it upon you, or indeed if it has always been there since your arrival, or perhaps even before."

"I need your help," Hermione said, tears forming in her eyes. Damn Tom Riddle! How was he so skilled at mind magics already?

"Hermione, although you cannot tell me precisely what you are facing, I can offer you every assistance that Hogwarts can provide. For instance, I will give you an unrestricted pass to the Restricted section of the library. There are tomes there which might be useful, whatever you are seeking. And I promise you, I am working as much as I possibly can on the question of how to return you to your home. I do not want you here anymore than you wish to remain here, and I will continue to do my utmost to see you safely home."

Hermione willed back the tears that brimmed in her eyes, blinking steadily to force them into submission. "I understand, sir. It's just that…it is not easy to be here in the first place, and to add Tom Riddle on top of _that_!"

She broke off and Albus offered a handkerchief before he circled his desk again, offering a container of sweets. "Licorice screw?"

"No thank you," she said, sniffing.

"I am going to be traveling again in a few months' time on the subject of your travel. Unfortunately, my Christmas wanderings concerned a different matter. Hopefully, however, I will be able to bring home some good news about your return after my trip in the spring." He paused to take in her reaction to this news, but she didn't seem to be very heartened by it. He decided to take some of Herbert's advice and continued, "Hermione, you are an extremely bright and competent witch. Although I cannot help you directly, I can tell you that all of your professors are incredibly impressed by your talent and intelligence. You are resourceful and quick thinking. Whatever it is, I am certain that you can find a solution. Trust yourself and your instincts."

"Thank you, Professor," she said, brightening slightly, if with no little effort. "I appreciate your confidence in me."

"Do not fret, Hermione. Such cases as yours are not unheard of, and eventually time will get itself untangled. It is a certainty upon which you may rely."

This did perk Hermione up a bit. "Do you mean that certain events are fated? That regardless of time travel, the same fates will befall all involved?"

Dumbledore tilted his head back and closed his eyes briefly. "Not precisely. But time cannot abide a paradox. It will work to resolve it. Those who seek to tinker with time best do so in very small, subtle ways. It is possible to have that add up to a big change, of course, but it is very difficult to achieve. There is quite a bit of debate about whether such things require active management, as we have discussed previously. However, it is not unknown for terrible events to befall those who travel through time."

Hermione rather thought that might be a veiled threat, and some of that must have showed in her expression because Dumbledore was quick to reassure her.

"I would like to point out that only those who seek to change time in significant ways have reported such events. As I said to you previously, as long as you are respectful of the timeline, generally speaking it should be respectful of you, even though you are currently out of order, as it were."

This reassured Hermione greatly. "Thank you, sir. I am glad you have told me this. I would have hated to cause a new plague on humanity with a sneeze at the breakfast table."

Professor Dumbledore laughed heartily at this. "No, no, dear girl. You are not likely to cause a big change. Simply keep doing what you are doing, and apart from the question of Mr. Riddle's interest, I believe your presence here will go virtually unnoticed."

He did not mention the curse that was on her. Hopefully it was a problem that was as out of place as she was. As he watched her leave his office, Albus Dumbledore was quite certain he could not handle any more Dark dealings at present.


	19. Tightrope Walking

**Thank you all for the reviews and wonderful comments. I will try to get back to a few of you by PM shortly. I really want to get to certain parts of the tale that have been written for the longest time, but I'm not willing to rush other parts of the plot that will matter later to do so. So, bear with me as we creep closer to some fairly major events. Your patience will be rewarded within two chapters.**

* * *

"Now, students, your attention please!"

Hermione stopped talking to Olivia and forced her attention onto Professor Merrythought, who was holding class for the first time in a part of the castle Hermione had not seen before. Professor Merrythought was ahead of her, though, and began explaining the purpose of the large room.

"This is the Dueling Chamber. It is designed to allow students to practice dueling under circumstances that might be unusual, such as against multiple opponents, or which involve a combination of wizard and magical creature. We will routinely hold practicals in this space, and this will be the location for your next trial, which will take place in March."

A loud groan was heard. Hermione heard Granthus Gibbon complain in a whisper, "Doesn't she know it's prime Quidditch season? I don't want to think about the next DADA trial!"

Fortunately for him, this was not overheard by the professor, who was explaining how the number of doors in the chamber could be changed to accommodate different dueling scenarios.

"Your trials will be individual—" the professor said, turning in a half circle to meet the eyes of each of her students, ending with Tom Riddle, "—for the most part, but it is advisable to practice with your partners to prepare. In addition to the practices in class, I will expect each of you to schedule practice times outside of class. We are learning difficult defensive and offensive spells now, and you will _not_ be able to master them without additional practice outside of class time. Now, today we are learning how to defend against slicing hexes…"

Hermione only half-listened to Professor Merrythought's instructions about the best way to block slicing hexes. She had been the recipient of enough of them to know exactly what a well-aimed slicing hex could do. There was a sudden hustle and bustle, and Hermione steeled herself mentally for the half hour ahead, trading hexes with Tom. Professor Merrythought was having them use golems as the targets, and the defender had to try to keep it as intact as possible with their shielding. It wasn't quite the same as being the target of such hexes yourself, but the professor could hardly allow that without having Madame Duvalle at the ready.

"Ladies first," Tom said to Hermione politely as Olivia gave him a smile and stole a glance before she went over to her own partner.

"I think I'd prefer to defend first, thanks all the same," Hermione replied, and Tom nodded easily with an arch of his brow.

"Very well, Hermione," Tom said. "I'll be sure to keep myself back a bit, just in case."

"Don't bother on my account," Hermione replied coolly as she strode over to take her place behind the golem, and Tom's lips quirked up briefly.

"Oh, but I like bothering you, Hermione," he called out gently behind her, and Hermione rolled her neck to one side. She refused to let him get under her skin before their duel even began.

"Ready then?" she said briskly, her wand at the ready.

A gleam entered his eye and he cast quickly, as quickly as she expected. He used nonverbal magic, of course, so Hermione wasn't quite sure which slicing hex he used, but her reflexes were quick enough and she deflected it from the golem into the earth floor of the chamber. There wasn't any sort of acknowledgement on Tom's part, simply another hex. Hermione batted that one down, too. She didn't bother to see how the rest of the class was getting on or whether anyone was watching them. Tom was quick, and she was determined not to lose. At the end of his fifteen minutes of attack time, the golem had two slices, but Hermione had managed to deflect the rest, the ground around the golem reflecting it with gouges in the earth.

"Time! Switch places please!"

Tom inclined his head briefly in passing, and Hermione returned the cool gesture. She felt more comfortable with him like this, the cool and detached Head Boy persona on display instead of the ruthless dictator.

"Ready, go! Another fifteen minutes please," Professor Merrythought called out.

Hermione refused to use the one vicious slicing hex which she knew, which was of course Snape's and had not been invented yet. Nonetheless, she had been forced to move past _Diffindo_, and so she chose to use nonverbal _Seco_ and _Exsculpo_ hexes instead. Professor Merrythought was not even paying the pair of them any attention, her efforts focused on those classmates who seemed most in danger of cutting themselves or being cut despite the golems. She cast twice in quick succession, but Tom parried them easily.

_Right_, Hermione thought to herself, then began casting in earnest. Tom Riddle was maddeningly good at dueling, and he batted away the hexes from the golem with little apparent effort on his part.

"Are you going to make a real attempt Hermione?" he prodded, and Hermione felt a flush of anger which she tamped down. She would not be drawn into going full throttle.

"If you see something wrong with what I am doing, by all means, please speak up," Hermione replied through gritted teeth as she cast three times, throwing the last hex underhanded as he parried the second.

"Well, now that you mention it, your wand is dipping a bit when you're casting, and it's lessening the power of the hex," Tom commented archly, throwing her next efforts off over his shoulder and again into the floor. "I could show you?"

Hermione blew a stray strand of hair out of her flushed face and nodded once. _Smug bastard_.

Tom strode over and gestured toward her wand hand. "May I?"

Hermione nodded uneasily. He was quite close to her, and her heart had treacherously sped up, her mind unwittingly supplying images from the last time he had been so close to her. He stood behind her and put his hand over hers, clasping it firmly.

"When you are casting _Seco_, there's a tiny upward lift at the end which gives it direction, like so—"

He was speaking directly into her ear quietly, his mellifluous voice eliciting a strong response from her gut and an electric jolt at the base of her spine. She tried to keep her breathing even as he moved her hand in the requisite fashion for the hex, and felt almost mournful when he stepped away as he said, "—now you try it."

"How did you know that was the spell I was using?" she asked quietly, darting a glance at him.

"I told you—magic speaks to itself," he replied. Hermione could tell from his expression that he was amused. Irritated now, she focused on the task at hand, and performed the spell with a precision that left a deep gash in the golem.

"That's better," Tom said, stepping forward again and clasping her hand again as if to instruct her. "_Exsculpo_ is a bit trickier—the flourish at the end does quite a bit for the spell, but few get it right. I don't think we'll have time for all of it today, but…"

Just as he said it, Professor Merrythought called an end to the class. The other students hustled and bustled out of the dueling chamber, but Tom and Hermione remained behind, almost frozen as Tom finished his quiet instruction on how to cast the spell.

"Move your wrist like so—"

Hermione heard the words, but her concentration was entirely broken by his closeness and the realization that even Professor Merrythought had left the room. Tom Riddle had her wand hand in his own, and he was teaching her how to improve her slicing hexes. It was a surreal moment, and Hermione just breathed for one heartbeat, then two, her hand dropping as Tom let it go.

"I think I get your point now," Hermione said, not daring to look at him as she tucked her wand up her sleeve and took a necessary step away from him.

"Do you?" Tom asked.

Hermione knew he wasn't talking about the spell. She looked up at his eyes which were still cool, but more alive with flickers of motion in their dark depths than they were under most circumstances. She took another breath, then began, "Professor Dumbledore wanted me to tell you that I will be going home soon."

"Will you?" Tom said, stepping closer again, tucking his own wand into his pocket. "Are you sure he is able to send you home?"

There was an amused flicker in his eyes that told Hermione he knew exactly how to send her back. Her eyes narrowed briefly, and she retorted, "Bad things happen to those who mess with time, Tom."

"Is that a warning or a prediction, I wonder?" he mused, his eyebrow lifting quizzically.

"I have no desire to die because you have an obsession with control," she said.

_Damn Dumbledore, anyway._ He had to be able to counter whatever fears Dumbledore was sowing in her. He resolved to step up his own research on time travel, a tricky subject at the best of times. His followers were already scouring their libraries for certain obscure treatises that he was certain were foundational to the magical theory of it. And, Salazar's own library helped, of course, even if he couldn't get to it as often as he'd like. He was certain he would not have sent her back with those instructions if he were truly concerned about potentially negative consequences in any case.

"Well, we can't have that," he said casually, stroking her hand and looking at her intently. "I assure you, I will do nothing to endanger your life, nor my own…within reason."

"This isn't a game, Tom."

She was annoyed now, and while he preferred it to her fear, oddly enough, it was still not helpful to his cause.

"Of that I am well aware," Tom replied. "Now, hold up your hand."

"How can you ask me to…to _embrace_ this?" There it was, the hint of despair that Tom suspected hid beneath her initial responses, and which Hermione felt put her in the weaker position.

He held his left hand up and gestured toward her right. Hermione did not know what he meant to do, and was wary about putting her hand next to his.

Tom sought to reassure her. "Just see it, and then ask me that question again."

Hermione sighed and lifted her hand, allowing Tom to position it so that it mirrored his own, a centimeter gap between their palms and fingers. "Well?"

Tom focused effortlessly, letting his magic dance around his fingertips, such that Hermione felt the warmth of it. "Do you feel that? Go ahead, let your own answer…it won't hurt you."

Curious now, Hermione let her magic pool a bit in her fingertips, and she forced herself to breathe slowly as she felt the spiraling heat at her fingers. She looked at him and found he was studying her reaction with the adroit, smug curiosity of a mentor watching a protégé.

"That is what the ancient Egyptians called _Heka_. It is rare to find wizards or witches who instinctively grasp it, as you do, and I do. You'd have read about it by now if you'd stop being stubborn and read the _Maleficium_."

Hermione shook her head in irritation and Tom clasped her hand then, forcefully. She couldn't help the shocked gasp that escaped her lips at the temporary clash and then melding of the magics they had summoned to their hands. Tom took the opportunity to pull her closer, the shock rendering Hermione pliant and temporarily yielding, a welcome burden against his chest.

"That is one reason why you _want_ to spend time with me, and I with you. Do you understand?"

Tom turned his head to the side, that arrogant expression back in place.

"What I want and what I need are two different things," Hermione replied sternly, her eyes never leaving his.

"Allow me to make them one and the same," Tom replied confidently. She needed a push, and he would keep giving them to her until she yielded.

"I don't want to learn more about magic from Lord Voldemort," Hermione said, her words expelled in an odd rush as the snippets of conversations with Professor Beery and Professor Dumbledore flitted through her brain.

"What about from Tom Riddle?" he asked softly. "Don't you like him, just a little?"

Hermione was wrenched by this. Her heart supplied a stream of images—his jealousy toward Herecles, his protectiveness, the raw anger of his feelings at the ruined orphanage, the wholehearted gusto with which he debated with her and her only. She could only think it was a mistake, to have any compassionate feelings or other sort of friendly feelings toward him now, but Professor Beery's patient words had wormed their way in and she could not diminish their power.

"Yes, I do," she admitted, knowing what kind of response that would provoke. He lowered his head at once, his lips touching hers in a featherlight caress that promised there was so much _more_ to come. This time it was softer, and Hermione kissed him back with a bit of the heat that had influenced their spat. She didn't care that they would both be late for their next classes, nor that later she would again contemplate how she could feel something other than loathing for him. For this split second in time she would revel in the slow, warm kiss he bestowed, his lips smooth with a sweet flavor that was balanced by the way his fingers caressed hers, his other hand gently cradling her waist as he licked her lips lightly, encouraging her to open her mouth to him, to let him possess her mouth as thoroughly as he already possessed her blood.

Tom was as gentle as he could manage, as he did not want her to run away again after this. He wanted her to come back for more, more time together, more time for him to work on her. The bond was a failsafe, but this was the main way to achieve her compliance, her obedience. From the way her sweet mouth moved against his own, then opened to his, he judged that she was well on her way to falling for him, despite knowing him as she did already. He found it necessary to deny to himself how captivating he found her, how he felt sorry that she broke off the kiss with a wet sounding smack as she drew away from him.

"Professor Dumbledore isn't going to be pleased about this," Hermione mumbled to herself as she watched Tom pick up her bookbag by unspoken accord.

"I don't give a damn," Tom said sincerely.

* * *

The following weeks passed swiftly with an increasing degree of attention from Tom. Hermione wondered if she were insane, dancing on a tightrope as she was. He was everything accommodating and charming since she had stopped fighting the progression of their relationship. It helped that she had stopped lying to herself about how divided she was in her feelings. She did like the fact that he was in no way inclined toward public displays of affection unless provoked. This limited the time he had to ply her with kisses and caresses that were slowly but steadily growing more intimate, usually in the privacy afforded in Tom's own quarters, and those opportunities were few and far between.

In public, Tom Riddle was everything a girl could ask for in a boyfriend. He was solicitous but not overtly clingy, at least not in a way that was obvious to many. He treated her much the same as he had since first showing interest in her at the beginning of the school year, a clever way of placating Dumbledore. He even backed off from intimidating her friends, allowing Olivia and Phineas to join their study sessions in the more public part of the library and going so far as to even help Phineas with his Potions project.

In private, he steadily demanded more of her. Their arguments about spell creation and magical theory were incendiary, and necessitated the constant use of silencing charms and privacy spells in a rarely used corner of the library. Without the presence of Professor Cavallo, neither one pulled back. It was the closest Tom came to losing control, apart from when she responded to him physically. Hermione seemed to realize this, and pushed his buttons at every opportunity, in every argument.

The one thing that seemed off-limits was her past and his. Tom didn't ask and she didn't offer. This made Hermione deeply uneasy, and she worked harder than before on her research into breaking the blood bond. Tom knew what she was doing and made no move to stop her, even taunting her once.

"Best of luck with that, dear."

"If it bothers you so little, why don't you let me have a look at that charming book which had such a crush on me?" Hermione retorted.

"I think not."

Apart from their sparring, Tom convinced Hermione to let him teach her more about nonverbal magic. Hermione recognized the opportunity to learn from a master—_albeit a twisted, psychopathic master_, she reminded herself. She knew he was making it as hard as possible for her to think of that side of him. Likewise she had little doubt that he wouldn't teach her things that could prove damaging to his own interests; but it was a more productive pastime than letting him inch her steadily closer to comfort over his physical intentions and spring deadline. Whenever she felt a bit panicked by those thoughts or the way she responded to him, Hermione reminded herself that she had to trust her instincts, as Professor Dumbledore had advised. She was getting closer to the key of breaking the blood bond, and he knew nothing of the time travel research. 'Get through today' had become her motto.

* * *

"You need to let it build, then control it _before_ you channel it through your wand. If you let your wand be the conduit of control, you reduce the power of your magic and you slow it down considerably," Tom said patiently, whipping his wand with the predatory grace that highlighted his dueling style.

"I understand, but keeping it tightly bundled before using my wand is impossible," Hermione snapped, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. She was sweaty and hot from her efforts, while Tom looked cool as usual.

"Bundling it is not control, Hermione," Tom said. "You need to think beyond the physical expression of your magic."

Hermione's frustration hit its cap at this. "This isn't exactly easy, you know!"

The little quirk upward at the corner of his mouth was infuriating. "Of course it isn't. If it were, everyone would do it, wouldn't they?"

"You smug pillock!" Hermione muttered, turning around in a huff to see a fascinated Hufflepuff witch she didn't recognize standing with Herecles Potter at the door of the Dueling Chamber.

"Trouble in paradise?" Herecles quipped, but Tom was by her side instantly, his wand still in hand. Herecles noted it, but he didn't flinch. He said pleasantly, "We scheduled the room for a bit of practice. I believe your time is up."

It was obvious that Herecles was directing that last at Tom, but Hermione was in no mood to placate two boys who wanted to argue.

"Excuse me," she said tightly, slipping past the Hufflepuff girl without a backward glance. She could hear Tom saying something to Herecles, but she had no idea what it was, because she turned the corner of the corridor. She didn't get very far, however, before Tom caught up to her.

"You're very pretty when you're angry," Tom said, his long, loping strides easily able to keep up with her.

"Piss off," was Hermione's reply, but Tom wasn't deterred. He cast a cooling charm on her, as much as it pained him to do so. She was particularly delightful to look at when she was flushed like that. It had the intended effect, however, as she slowed down and said, "Thanks."

"You're so welcome," Tom said, catching her hand and twirling her into a conveniently handy alcove. The corridor was rarely used, and Tom was quite intent on having a little nibble on those delectable lips before he was willing to part ways with her for the rest of the afternoon. Hermione kissed him first, a nip from her teeth at his lower lip that was a bit sharp due to her lingering irritation over not being able to master the technique. He accepted it easily and gave her a few nips of his own before her mouth opened to him.

"Delightful," he said when she drew away. She met his dark eyes and couldn't resist a jab at his smug balloon of an ego.

"It would be more delightful if you didn't feel obliged to maul me after merely being in the same room as Herecles Potter."

His eyes darkened as she had perhaps known they would, and for the first time she consciously realized that his jealous behavior was perhaps more than just that of a child over a favorite toy.

"You're not to speak with him," he warned, his hands pressed tightly against the wall on either side of her head. "That's not a request."

Hermione's eyes widened in mock surprise. "What, issuing orders again? I thought we were past that little display of ego. Or are you not confident in your ability to keep me, despite your underhanded techniques?"

"Do not provoke me, Hermione." His voice was low but menacing, and to his surprise she laughed.

"Or you'll do what, Tom? Hurt me? Hurt my friends?" She paused, enjoying his shock at her reaction but keeping her enjoyment to herself, a vicious sort of thrill at speaking the truth yet again to Lord Voldemort. "What will you do, I wonder, when there comes a day when those you seek to intimidate aren't afraid to die before you? What good will fear be then, I ask you?"

He came closer, a feat she hadn't thought possible. She felt a different sort of thrill as he brought his magic into play, the frisson of nerves over her skin a response that never failed to make her quiver. Damn him, but he was almost addictive when he did this, and her magic responded, skitters and flourishes designed to entice his, an instinctive response she couldn't suppress with any amount of effort.

"Now, dearest, let's not bicker over the _future_." Tom lowered his head to her throat, nipping with more a little sharpness to his bite. He sucked on the spot, leaving a nice bruise that would be clearly visible, charming it so she couldn't hide it. "Let's see how you explain that tomorrow."

* * *

"I don't suppose you know how much longer you'll be?" Abraxas drawled, putting one dragonhide boot on the library table as he leaned back in his chair.

"Feel free to leave at any time if you're bored," Hermione said without even looking up at him. Abraxas was an arrogant sod but she knew perfectly well that he would stay exactly where he was until she was finished or someone else came along to relieve him.

"I'm sure I could be entertained, Miss Girard, if you'd explain to me why you find a book on Dark blood curses so fascinating," Abraxas said, removing his foot from the table and instead folding his arms on the desk so he could lean forward. "I knew you were a swot, but that seems a bit much for even the most studious Ravenclaw."

"Tsk tsk, such an unpleasantly pejorative word, 'swot'. Whatever would Tom say if I happened to mention it to him?" she said a touch too sweetly, giving him a pointed look.

Abraxas' eyes narrowed minutely, and he leaned across the table. "You're very lucky, you know, that he's taken an uncommon interest in you. Rest assured, if he ever tires of you, I'll be sure to teach you a lesson in manners when it comes to how you should speak to a member of one of society's highest families."

"I was under the impression that he doesn't take an interest in women, period," Hermione began calmly, her quill ceasing again as she contemplated the boy before her. "Therefore I would assume that however lowly you may perceive my position in 'society' to be, it is surely overridden by other considerations. Perhaps it is you who require a lesson in manners?" The unspoken threat was there, and Hermione turned back to her writing, ignoring the flush of anger on the pale boy's face.

"Don't you have Quidditch practice?"

The low rumble of Evan Rosier's voice prevented Abraxas from retorting in anger, which would probably have been a mistake. She was goading him, yes, but he had started it. Evan watched Abraxas leave, the set of his shoulders leaving little doubt as to how he had been getting on with Hermione.

"I see Abraxas was being his usual charming self," Evan offered as he plonked down in the chair across from Hermione. She glanced up at him briefly and then replied, "I'm used to it."

"What are you working on?" Evan asked. He was the more inquisitive of the two, and Hermione usually didn't mind. Today, however, Abraxas' taunt had put her in a snappy mood.

"It doesn't matter, unless you happen to be well versed on the subject of blood bonds," she said.

"Well, actually, we have quite a bit on that subject in our library," Evan replied. "A historical hangover from when my family did a lot of trading with the Visigoths. Blood bonds tended to be the only thing they respected, or so my father tells me."

Hermione's head popped up at that. "Really?"

Evan grinned. "Yeah, really. What are you trying to do?"

Hermione knew that he could tell Tom exactly what she asked, so she had to couch her question carefully. It wasn't as if Tom didn't know what she was doing, he was just arrogant enough to think she wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Well, she would prove him wrong.

"I want to find out how an accidental blood bond could be broken."

Evan didn't see the harm in telling her what little he knew. Unlike Abraxas, he found her more amusing than not. "Well, you would need the blood of both participants in the bond, obviously. And the wording used to dissolve a blood bond is similar to what you used to make it in the first place…"

Hermione listened as he talked about the various types of blood bonds he had read about and took notes, asking one more question. "Does it have to be dissolved in the same language in which it was formed?"

Evan quirked an eyebrow at that. "I doubt it would. After all, there have been cases of enchanted objects inducing such bonds, and those were broken in different languages. Just look at the case of Aurora Granschen and her prince consort."

Hermione smiled at this reference to the Sleeping Beauty fairy tale. She wondered exactly how much of what Evan shared was going to be filtered through Tom. "Stupid question…all of it," she muttered to herself, then stood. "Thanks."

Evan inclined his head. "No problem."

Back in her room, Hermione spread out all her notes and went through them again. She sat back in her chair with a frown, then eyed the drawer containing the _Maleficium_ again. There was something she was missing.

"I sincerely hope I won't regret this," she muttered to herself as she unwarded the drawer and removed the book, then tentatively pressed her hand to the first page. "Let's see what you have to say about blood bonds."

* * *

Two days later, Evan Rosier made his way through the courtyard. The chill in the air was still biting, but spring was definitely on the way. His mind was still turning over the lesson he had received the previous evening in Obliviation. There had been the promise of an opportunity to practice the skill in real life soon, and Evan felt cheered by the prospect. He crossed to the dungeon stairs, taking them two at a time through the ease of long practice. Finally he reached the Head's quarters and knocked briskly on the door, which swung open silently.

"Ah, Evan. Please, be seated." Tom had looked up briefly, then resumed his activity at the desk.

Evan Rosier sat down and waited for Tom to finish writing his note, then watched him cast a charm to permanently change the handwriting.

"Send this off immediately. Use my bird. I want it to arrive in France no later than tomorrow."

"Of course," Evan said. "My cousin said the previous missive was well received, my lord."

The gleam in his eyes was that of Lord Voldemort, not the schoolboy Tom Riddle. "Oh, I knew it would be."


	20. The Best Defense

**Good evening. Tomorrow I have to go back to work and get some things done, so all the extra fast updating will be at an end. I might get another chapter out by the end of the week if I can get my work stuff sorted quickly enough. Then it's going to be weekly posts again, in all likelihood. I'm behind on review replies, so I'll catch up now before I post this. Thank you all to the new reviewers & readers, and for all who have favorited this tale! I appreciate it!**

**A few things for the anonymous reviewers: yep, the deadline is going to be tight, obviously that is deliberate on my part. :) Till, glad you enjoyed chapter 18. Thank you, Nomadic Lady! **

* * *

"Please be careful when adding the Snargaluff tubers to your potions! If your potion is too hot, they will react violently with the fresh blood!"

Professor Slughorn's warning was unnecessary at the top table, as Hermione had come to call it, but she had reason to ensure that Tom Riddle, who always had perfect potions, had a problem today with the Ambages potion. She deeply regretted it, but it was absolutely necessary to involve Phineas—specifically, Phineas' _allergy_.

It became apparent to anyone in Ravenclaw house within days of arrival that Phineas Longbottom was violently allergic to pixypuffs. This was unfortunate, as they formed the base of a very popular candy, pixy dust. It got _everywhere_ and Phineas had to excuse himself entirely from the common room at both Christmas and Valentine's Day, his sneezes rocketing around the room. Today in Potions, Phineas was working on the other side of Tom, and Hermione absolutely had to have some of Tom's potion with his blood in it. Thus, she felt no compunction when she dropped a tiny ampule of pixy dust next to Phineas' feet as she passed by on her return to her seat from the supply closet.

It took precisely two minutes before Phineas' nose started to twitch as Hermione surreptitiously watched him out of the corner of her eye. The small vial containing Tom's blood sat just next to his cauldron, and he had his flame perfectly set, of course. Phineas sneezed once, then twice, this time in Tom's direction. Phineas fumbled for his handkerchief at Tom's dirty look and began apologizing profusely while Tom returned to his work, ignoring Phineas utterly.

Hermione felt a small twinge of regret as the second part of the dust hit the back of Phineas' throat. She winced as he began to sneeze violently, his arm shooting out and endangering Tom's work as he staggered back from the table. Tom turned toward Phineas to grab him and was thanked with a sneeze to the chest for his pains while Hermione quickly adjusted the flame under Tom's cauldron up just high enough to overheat the potion, but not enough for him to notice.

"I'm…I'm so sorry!" Phineas whispered violently as Tom Riddle stared him back into his seat after cleaning himself with a wave of his wand. "I don't know what came over me…does anyone have any pixy dust in here?" he asked a bit louder, clearly terrified to have practically assaulted the Head Boy with his sneezing.

"Just get back to work," Tom hissed as Slughorn raised an eyebrow at the pair of them for a moment before returning to the grading he was doing at his desk.

Fifteen minutes later, as Tom tried to add his blood to the potion, the mixture erupted violently in a cascading mess that caused everyone around him to leap back from their stations and Professor Slughorn to come over quickly, a shocked expression on his face.

"Well, Tom, that is unfortunate! Still, I suppose it's a bit much to hope you'd get every potion perfect the first time, eh?" He clapped his hand on Tom's shoulder and turned him toward the rest of the classroom, an act that likely pissed Tom off all the more as Slughorn continued loudly, "Yes, I daresay there isn't a single one of your classmates who hasn't done the same at some point in their Potions studies. Welcome to the club. Now, clean up, there's a good lad."

In the middle of Slughorn's improvised speech, Hermione snuck some of what was left of Tom's blood into a clean vial and put it in her pocket with no one the wiser. _One step closer_.

* * *

Olivia had grown quieter since Sophie had left, but she wouldn't tell Hermione why. It was yet another in a growing list of things that made Hermione uneasy. The upcoming weekend was a Hogsmeade weekend, and even though she would be accompanied by Tom she was certain he would be pulled away by some Head Boy duties and she could steal some time to herself. There was a passage in the _Maleficium_ that had given her an idea about the blood bond that Tom had cast, but she needed confirmation. She planned to visit the little bookshop he favored again, hoping to find the missing information she sought within its shelves.

"Ready?" Tom seemed relaxed, which instantly put her on her guard. If he was happy, there was definitely something wrong somewhere. Hermione didn't answer, just walked outside, her cloak already fastened tightly. Spring was approaching, but it was still chilly. She knew Tom had duties as Head Boy on this Hogsmeade visit, hence their departure at the same time as the other students. For the most part Tom was a hands-off manager, but when anyone got out of line they were whipped back into shape quickly. Tom did not tolerate horseplay in the village, a fact which was well known. He didn't have to use his followers to enforce this—he simply assigned detentions. It was enough to keep most of the students in line.

They paid a visit to Scrivener's and Hermione was browsing indifferently when Tom was finally called away by a skirmish at the new tea shop—Madame Puddifoot's. Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione let herself out the back door before Evan Rosier could catch sight of her, then darted down the alleyway toward the book shop. Once there, she began searching for other books on blood bonds. She was in the middle of an interesting passage about magical objects as bonding devices when the bell over the door jingled and Hermione half noticed two wizards walk in and approach the clerk behind the counter.

"Good afternoon, madam," one of the men said courteously, and Hermione's ears pricked up. That was a German accent. It was faint, but it was there. Hermione continued to read the text, but her senses pricked. "It is a lovely village here—and to be so close to Hogwarts, it must be nice for you. You must get a lot of business from the school and its students."

"Oh yes, they are a regular group of visitors, and glad we are to have them here too."

"I was wondering if you could tell me a bit about the students that flood your village during particular weekends. You see, we are friends of Albus Dumbledore, and he was telling us about some of his students. Apparently they are a very impressive lot."

"Oh, they are a good group of kids, I'm sure," the clerk replied, while Hermione inwardly rolled her eyes at the man's stupidity. Couldn't he see they were pumping him for information? She closed the book softly and plucked another from the shelf to begin leafing through it quietly, although she was listening intently to their conversation.

"Yes, and how nice to have them for so many years," the second wizard said smoothly. "But of course you must see the occasional new face?"

Hermione's heart began to beat faster.

The clerk tilted his head to the side. "Well, not so many as you would think about it, but every now and again there are a few transfer students. Mostly those who were schooled at home, private tutors you see, and then the parents decided to send them to Hogwarts."

"I see," the first wizard said, leisurely finishing his browsing of the shelves next to the counter. "It is good to hear that you didn't get any refugees from Europe. That is, of course, why we are here—it is a very nasty business over there at present."

The clerk's brow furrowed. "Well, I believe they did get a new seventh year student this year from all that trouble. Can't remember her name, but seems to be getting along well enough despite the rocky start."

"I see," the man said. "Well, I'm glad you aren't too bothered with that here. It feels good to get away from it, I can tell you."

"Yes," murmured the second man, exchanging a glance with the first before his eyes wandered around the shop. Hermione was glancing at the books on the shelf again, intently searching titles and apparently oblivious to whoever else was in the shop. The wizard's eyes passed over her, and Hermione felt relieved when the first man paid for the book he had selected and they turned to leave the shop. Hermione stepped up to the counter and said, "I'll take this one, please," putting down the book on blood bonds. She felt somewhat relieved when the bell jingled over the door as the men left.

The clerk sniffed and asked, "Do you need a bag?"

"No thanks," Hermione said, and the clerk took her coins and handed her the book, which she promptly shrank and put into her pocket. Hermione ignored the tiny prick from the book's sharp corner, her mind quickly analyzing the two wizards that had just left. She looked out the window and saw that they were now across the road and entering Madame Tweaks' Robes & Sundries, probably about to repeat their little fishing expedition in the bookshop. She turned and nearly squeaked as she bumped into Tom Riddle's chest.

"Hermione? What happened?" he asked, his tone suddenly sharp as he took in her pale face.

"Nothing. Actually, I don't feel well," Hermione said, refusing to look him in the eye. "I think I'll go back to Hogwarts now. I'll just apparate to the gates."

Tom hesitated for a split second, then his expression smoothed again. "Fine, but you're looking pale. Let me walk you back—you wouldn't want to splinch yourself. I'll have to get a prefect to cover for me. I suspect Sylvestrus is in The Three Broomsticks."

Hermione let Tom take her arm and lead her into the pub, where he spotted the prefect in question easily. "Good afternoon, Sylvestrus. Would you mind if we had a chat briefly?"

The thin young man looked up in surprise, but stood easily and Tom slid Hermione into his seat, which caused Sylvestrus' table mates to leave. "Abraxas!"

_A Slytherin in every corner_, Hermione thought to herself, but a part of her was suddenly delighted by Tom's possessiveness. Abraxas Malfoy ambled over, and Tom exchanged a quick word with them both, then slid into the booth next to Hermione.

"I thought we were going back to Hogwarts," Hermione said, but Tom picked up her hand and kissed it.

"Now, Hermione, I want to know exactly what had you practically running out of the book shop."

His tone was so pleasant, but his eyes were communicating all sorts of other messages. She remained silent, an outward hiss of breath the only sign of Tom's displeasure at her refusal to answer. He continued to softly stroke her hand, his voice equally soft. He didn't need forceful words to make his displeasure clear. "I don't want to use Legilimency on you here, Hermione, but rest assured I will do it if it means getting the answers I need."

Hermione would not let herself flinch under his stare. Nonetheless, she was in a very bad predicament. She had wondered if Professor Dumbledore might be attempting to get information about time travel from Grindelwald. If those wizards were sent by him, she was in a great deal of trouble.

"There were two wizards in the book shop. I think they work for Grindelwald," Hermione said in a rush, her emotions in a mad tumble. Was she really that crazy, that she thought Lord Voldemort was a better choice than Gellert Grindelwald? Under the circumstances, though, Tom Riddle had the potential to keep her safe until she was back at Hogwarts if he wasn't going to let her out of his sight. She wasn't foolish enough to underestimate wizards whom Grindelwald had sent to poke around, and Tom was unquestionably the most capable duelist among all the students.

"Show me," Tom said, then claimed her mouth for a kiss, his eyes fixed on her own. He didn't necessarily need the eye contact now that a proper blood bond was in place, but it would be easier for her if Hermione helped a bit to start. It would be an encouraging show of good faith on her part.

Hermione met his eyes, pushing forward the memory from a few minutes ago. She began at the point when she overheard the wizard's first question, closing her eyes as Tom skipped through, drawing the same conclusions which Hermione had reached, and a few more besides. He pulled out of her mind and easily ended the kiss, his hand lingering at the back of her neck.

"There's never a dull moment with you, is there?" he murmured, catching her eyes again. Hermione instantly stiffened at that, and she replied, "I can just apparate back to the school, and that will be that. I don't need your assistance."

"Ah, but what if Professor Dumbledore decides to hand you over to the Ministry given this new threat?" Tom's tone was arch and Hermione gritted her teeth. They both knew he was right.

"Perhaps that would be for the best. They might not have his compunctions when it comes to the sanctity of my mind," Hermione retorted quietly, and Tom smirked.

"Or mine, lest you forget. So shall we agree that your little problem is also my little problem?" His eyes were bright again, a flicker of common understanding passing between them.

"Yes, damn it," Hermione said, and he relaxed his hold on the back of her neck lightly.

He pressed a brief kiss to her forehead to give those watching their little byplay the impression that they were whispering sweet nothings to each other, then coolly said, "Thank you, Abraxas," as he released her and sat back in his seat, taking a swallow of the Butterbeer which Malfoy slid in front of him. Abraxas slid into the seat opposite, and Tom picked up Hermione's hand, idly letting his thumb caress the back of it as he waited.

"It's being taken care of," Abraxas said, and Tom nodded.

"Drink your Butterbeer, Hermione. We'll head back to the castle with the last students as planned."

Hermione took a sip of the drink with a far steadier hand than she felt herself to possess. She looked across the table and met Malfoy's cool, slightly interested gaze.

"You're a secretive little thing, aren't you?" Abraxas murmured to Hermione, catching the amused expression on Tom Riddle's face. "You should have been in Slytherin."

"So I've been told," Hermione muttered, then turned her head to look at Tom.

"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked, and Tom shifted his hand, intertwining his fingers with hers in an intimate manner that made her feel warm and unclean at the same time.

"My duty as Head Boy, of course. I'll report anything untoward to the Headmaster. And Professor Dumbledore, of course."

Hermione's heart thudded. "Why Professor Dumbledore?"

"Because you're related to him, aren't you? And I would hate for anything he's been up to, to cause you any distress," Tom said, taking another sip of his drink while he kept an eye on the door to the pub.

Hermione felt a little chill at that. Tom had deduced, no doubt correctly, that Dumbledore was asking Grindelwald about time travel. Now Grindelwald was sniffing around, trying to find out if Dumbledore had received any unusual guests. Clearly, he had learnt enough to focus on the students. Thus, Tom was going to use Dumbledore's own ethics against him to keep him away from Hermione. There were too many students with relatives in Europe to risk reports of Dumbledore hovering over one student in particular. If at the same time, it resulted in Dumbledore confronting Grindelwald, so much the better for Lord Voldemort. Hermione shivered as she realized that Dumbledore was soon to have his famous duel anyway. This would just put more pressure on him, maybe make him disappear again from Hogwarts.

"Cold?" Tom asked, and Hermione noticed that the flames in the fireplace nearby leapt higher. It was terribly wrong that a boy so destined for evil could be so solicitous at times. Evan Rosier came in, and Tom relaxed still further. His servants were doing just as they had been taught. He watched Abraxas leave as Evan ordered his own drink then meandered over to chat with them, the conversation light and easy between Evan and Tom as Hermione sat silently and let Tom hold her hand.

After half an hour had passed, the door to the pub opened and Tom finally saw the two wizards in question. They made their way easily to the counter, each ordering a drink and making a casual survey of the room at large. If their eyes lingered on their table, Tom didn't notice it, which meant they were either very, very good at hiding their interest, or they genuinely saw nothing of note. He could feel his magic humming in a pleasant, anticipatory manner. Some inner instinct told him these wizards were aware that something was afoot, and the likelihood was high that he would be dueling them before the afternoon was over. _Well, wouldn't that be entertaining?_

"What is the likelihood of Merrythought coming up with something more challenging than a banshee at the next trial?" Tom asked Evan, noting that Gibbon had come in the door behind Hermione's roommate Olivia.

"I'm sure she won't do any repeats from last year, that is for sure," Evan said, finishing his Butterbeer and then looking at his watch. "It's a quarter to, the students are going to start heading back."

Hermione realized that it was almost time for them to leave, and Tom squeezed her hand and then released it. "I suppose it's time to get everyone organized then."

He stood and offered Hermione her cloak, which she let him fasten around her neck. His smile was sweet, the consummate boyfriend act firmly in place. She ignored the wizards at the bar and waved to Olivia, who waved back, quickly trying to quaff her Butterbeer before it was time to go. She was with a few other Ravenclaws, although Phineas wasn't among them. He was probably off with the Gryffindors, hanging on Augusta's every word.

"Ready?" the word had far more behind it than was comfortable, but Hermione again asked herself if the wizards who worked for Grindelwald would really dare to attack a Hogwarts student, so close to Dumbledore's home territory. They must be on an information gathering mission only, she reassured herself as Tom rounded up the strays from the pub while she waited with Evan in the chilly air outside. It was dusk now, and no one wanted to be out late at this time of year, the sun not quite setting early but still providing less than adequate light.

Students were starting to move off in groups toward Hogwarts, the path a jolly mix of Houses as bunches of students walked back. Given Tom's role, they were going to be in the last group headed back. Hermione noticed Abraxas loitering close by, and Evan was clearly under orders to not let her go, as he had a firm hand on her arm. It wouldn't be wise to protest under the circumstances. The other Knights had gone ahead with other groups. Hermione had no idea what that meant, but she was glad that Olivia had been in one of the earlier groups, as she would be safe. Tom was having to settle a loud argument that had erupted between a pair of Hufflepuff girls outside Madame Tweaks' shop. Hermione stamped her feet and cast a warming charm on them—it was growing colder as the sun waned, and she wanted to get back to Hogwarts.

"Hey, Hermione!"

The voice was boisterous and jolly, and Hermione turned her head to see Herecles Potter waving at her, and caught Tom's deadly stare at the same time that the fascinated attention of the two wizards just exiting The Three Broomsticks swung towards her. Tom caught it too, and his eyes narrowed still further as the fool Gryffindor bounded over to Hermione, ignorant of the chaos he had just caused.

"I bought these for you, since you were occupied in The Three Broomsticks," Herecles said, offering a package of sweets from Honeydukes. "Sorry we didn't get a chance to chat on this visit. Please tell me he isn't forcing his attentions on you."

"No, I can honestly say at this moment that I'm happy to have Tom Riddle's attention," Hermione said, aware that the wizards were whispering furiously. She caught a small flash of red from the corner of her eye and realized that Tom had used a stinging jinx to break up the witches' argument. He was pissed off, then.

"Oh, good," Herecles said. "I can't say I see what you see in him, but I suppose it's too much to think a girl wouldn't fall for those grades and looks."

"Yes, that's right," Hermione said, wanting to get rid of Herecles before Tom made it back to her side. Evan was silently hovering but she didn't want any more attention drawn to them. "I really didn't have a choice in it."

"Right." Herecles was too innocent to pick up on that subtext, and he gave her a broad smile. "See you around, Hermione."

Hermione exhaled quickly when he joined a group of his fellow Gryffindors and began to walk back toward Hogwarts. Tom was instantly back at her side, and they, too, began to set off for the castle, the miffed Hufflepuff girls setting off at a brisk march that saw them well ahead of them in short order.

"Good riddance," murmured Evan, but Tom said nothing. It was now just Hermione, Tom, Evan, and Abraxas, and the decreasing light was making it more difficult to make out the groups of students up ahead. Tom had his wand out, expectant. He was not disappointed for long. As soon as they were out of view and earshot of the village, but still a sufficient distance from the safety of the Hogwarts wards, the two wizards from Hogsmeade apparated in front of them.

"Good evening," the taller one said pleasantly. "We are visitors here, but we have heard many interesting things about this young lady. We would merely like a word with her, please."

It was ominous that the second wizard had cast a privacy charm on the little path, and Hermione felt the familiar stiffening as her mind and body prepared itself for a duel.

"I think you're going to regret not reading the _Maleficium_ yet, Hermione," Tom said quite quietly to Hermione, his wand glowing enough to brighten up the entire surroundings for about a hundred yards. To the wizards he said, "I'm afraid that won't be possible. You see, I'm the Head Boy, and it is the strict policy of the school that visitors must go through the Headmaster before being allowed to speak to students."

The second wizard laughed. "Ah, but we don't have any intention of going to the school, young man. Your care of your girlfriend is admirable, but we only want to talk to her. We merely wish to learn how she came to be at your school."

Abraxas and Evan both drew their wands, and the first wizard cocked his head. "I would not advise you to attempt such gallantry, young men. I assure you, we are not the kind of wizards with whom you wish to tangle."

The wizard pushed his cloak back over his left shoulder, revealing the Deathly Hallows badge on his chest. It was emblazoned on all the reports of Grindelwald's atrocities, and there was no doubt that it was a threat. Hermione's own wand twitched in recognition, and she viciously tamped down the flurry of memories concerning that symbol.

"I can see that I haven't been clear," Tom said, his cloak falling to the ground. He could feel his magic building, unafraid of whatever these two had to offer. It would be a good test for Malfoy and Rosier. "We will not allow you to talk to this young lady, now or ever."

"So be it," the second wizard said, slashing a hex toward Tom while the first sent a twinned pair of spells at Abraxas and Evan.

He rebuffed it easily. A horn tongue hex, really. As if he bothered with such childish spells. Beside him, Hermione cast her own retaliatory hex at the tall wizard who was dueling Abraxas and Evan. Clearly she didn't think he needed any help. She was right, as he sent a powerful lycacomia curse at his opponent. The wizard's expression darkened when he realized what Tom had just sent, and Tom smirked at him. _Let's see what you have, then_.

He then engaged in a duel that was as bitter as it was ugly. This wizard was well trained, but he had not Tom's magical depth nor his inventiveness. Abraxas and Evan were managing to hold their own against the other wizard, but only just. Hermione was pitching in as she could to help them, but the shorter wizard seemed to recognize this. He and the one Tom was dueling had targeted her a few times before they saw that Tom was rebuffing anything sent at Hermione by either of them, _and _still managing to hold up his end of the duel with the first wizard quite nicely. It was then that they probably realized they might be in trouble. A more intelligent pair would have attempted to break it off right then, not that he would have let them—but they seemed to arrogantly think that they would win the day regardless.

Hermione realized that the three Slytherins and Grindelwald's men were now tossing curses she had never seen before, the effects probably too gruesome to contemplate if any of them managed to hit. Of course, they didn't, not for a good few minutes. Tom was dueling with a fluidity that she recognized from the battle at Hogwarts. She realized he was simply toying with them, letting Abraxas and Evan have a good go. _He can finish them at any time_, she thought as she tossed a sponge knees curse and Tom blocked something from hitting her, again.

"Thanks," she shouted to him, and he gave her a half smile, his attention on the wizard across from him.

Tom could see that his opponent was now considering running, and realized that playtime was almost over. He decided it was time to take charge of things. He cut Abraxas and Evan out of the duel, taking both opponents into hand while his servants dropped back to protect Hermione.

Gellert's men had been doing a decent job of shielding, but Tom had been holding back, assessing their weaknesses with a very clinical eye. He let a bit more of his magic out, then fused through his spells as he picked up the pace of his casting, striking with unerring accuracy at their weak points until their shields crumbled. Hermione's breath hitched painfully as she watched him. The style, the casting, everything was completely Lord Voldemort in his prime. He hit the first wizard with the Avada Kedavra, the green light flashing silently and powerfully, turning to deal with the other opponent without even flinching from the Unforgivable. The second wizard barely took it in before Voldemort took him down with the entrail expelling curse, causing Hermione to gasp and turn her head away into Abraxas Malfoy's shoulder. She felt the brief shudder of his body as he took in the effects of Voldemort's curses, and a part of her was glad that some part of a Malfoy was a bit human. He ruined it, however, with his comment.

"People will fear him greatly once they see him like this," Abraxas said, taking in how Voldemort had quickly cast a binding charm and a silencing charm on the wizard, presumably to prevent the retrieval of any portkeys he may have secreted on his person.

"Like a murderer?" Hermione bit out, glad to feel something familiar like anger toward a Malfoy.

"Like a wizard born to rule." Malfoy's tone was begrudgingly admiring, and Hermione wanted to hex him, if for no other reason than to distract herself.

Voldemort ignored their little exchange, casting another privacy spell over the path since the first had evaporated with the first wizard's death. This was going to get Dumbledore into a great deal of trouble, of that he was certain. He wordlessly told Rosier with a look to deal with the first wizard's body, then summoned both wizards' wands with a flick of his hand. He walked over to the second one who lay dying, his blood now seeping out at a more sluggish pace as his heart began to stutter.

"You made a very critical mistake in coming here. You think your master is powerful, but you realize now that someone greater exists, don't you? Pity you won't be alive to tell him." Tom's voice, Lord Voldemort's voice, was quiet but authoritative, without a hint of mercy. He released the silencing charm on the man, waiting for a response.

"Who…are…you?" the wizard breathed, shock setting in.

"It hardly matters, does it? But you can be sure that your overlord will one day know who I am."

* * *

Hermione was numb. She heard Abraxas speaking to Tom, then felt his cloak settle on her shoulders on top of her own.

"Gibbon and MacNair are ahead and waiting."

"Tell them to clean up this mess. I want nothing left of them. Let the people in the village say what they like. Just pick someone suitable to witness them apparating away."

"Yes, my lord."

"Rosier, Obliviate the barkeep. Just erase his memory of us being in there when those two came in, please. No large suspicious gaps, we don't need any complications."

"Yes, my lord."

Hermione could hear the excitement in Evan's tone. She wondered if Abraxas Malfoy felt the same way. They had just dueled highly trained wizards from Grindelwald's ranks, and they had held their own. No wonder Tom inspired such loyalty in his followers. He was obviously an excellent teacher, as well as a clever strategist.

"Come along Hermione. We have to talk to Dippet, and Dumbledore." Tom took Hermione's hand and pulled her away from the scene.

"What am I supposed to say? 'I just took part in an illegal duel with Grindelwald's men, and by the way our Head Boy killed them both to protect me'?"

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," Tom reminded her, taking her hand firmly in his own.

"Is there any time you _don't_ find it appropriate to just kill people outright?" Hermione asked, causing his eyes to narrow as he stopped her. When he spoke his tone was hard.

"I can see that you require a change of perspective. First, I just saved your life. Again. Second, Obliviating those two and sending them home would be like waving a red flag begging Grindelwald to come calling himself." He paused briefly, tilting his head to the side. "And unless I mistake your reaction to that statement, that would indeed be 'buggering up' your timeline."

"Fine, then! 'Thank you'. Is that what you wanted to hear from me?" Hermione replied, pulling her hand away and running her fingers through her hair.

"If you really want to thank me, show me what you know about Grindelwald and his relationship to Dumbledore. I've figured out that they must know each other somehow, but no one seems to know anything." Tom's posture was aggressive, and he refused to let her turn away from him, grabbing her arm forcefully.

"I can't show you that," Hermione insisted, turning her face away from him.

"Can't, or won't?" he growled, and Hermione swallowed nervously, then bravely met his gaze.

"Won't."

"Witch, I just saved your life from two wizards who were trying to kidnap you. Again. I need to know what the fuck our Transfiguration professor has to do with the darkest wizard of this decade." Tom's voice was insistent, his irritation bleeding through.

_And you are the darkest wizard of the next five decades_, Hermione's mind shouted, and she focused hard on keeping her mental shields up. "I won't screw up things any worse than I already have. Please respect that."

"One memory. Either you choose, or I'll find one myself," Tom threatened, and Hermione stared at him. He was running at a high magical peak, his body practically thrumming with it. She could feel the tendrils of his magic seeping around her. He could do it if he wanted to, that cursed blood bond the tool he would use to do so. She would have to choose damage control.

"Fine," she said with a shaky breath, looking away again to gain control of her memories and wrangle the least offensive to the fore. "But only one."

He was in her mind quickly again, and Hermione had to bite her lip at the intensity of his presence in her head. He whirled through the description of Grindelwald's and Dumbledore's adolescent friendship from Skeeter's biography, then removed himself before she even asked him. Hermione felt dizzy for a brief second. He already hated Albus Dumbledore, so Skeeter's biased depictions couldn't make him think any worse of the wizard, she reasoned.

"That explains a lot," he said calmly, his expression carefully regulated while his mind worked through everything he had read. "Hurry, we have to get back. We can't be too far behind everyone else."

"I know," Hermione said, keeping her gaze away from him. His attention suddenly flicked fully back to her.

"You're cold. Do you have a warming charm on?"

"Yes," Hermione replied dully, and Tom suddenly pushed her against a tree, a brief flash of light from his wand letting him look at her closely. She was holding up very well, but there was a slight tremor in her frame.

"You're in shock. You need to recover your equilibrium."

It wasn't romantic, how he kissed her then, infusing warmth and a hint, just a hint of his magic into it. He wondered if she would accept it, or fight it as she fought everything else. Perhaps it was simply the situation, but she accepted it and him greedily, her hands fisting in his sweater as her mouth answered his urgently. His body pressed intimately against hers, making it seem warmer than it actually was, his breathing slightly harsh as he pulled away. He was definitely aroused, a side effect from the dueling.

"You need more experience," he muttered, and Hermione wasn't sure what kind of experience he was referring to. Deciding it was best to not say anything, she let him hurry her along the path, and soon enough Evan Rosier joined them, followed by Abraxas Malfoy, who nodded at Tom. It had been taken care of, then.

"I'm inviting you to the Heads' common room after dinner," Tom murmured. "Right now, we need to speak to the headmaster. Come."

Hermione was surprised when they arrived at the headmaster's office and both Abraxas and Evan stayed with them. As the gargoyle turned and the staircase ascended, Tom murmured to Hermione, "Just tell him what you overheard in the book shop, unless you want the Ministry here to incarcerate you under the guise of protecting you."

Hermione drew breath to reply, but the staircase stopped moving, leaving all four under the curious eyes of Headmaster Dippet.

"Well, Tom, this is a surprise. Trouble in Hogsmeade?"

"A bit of a disturbance, yes," Tom said smoothly. "Perhaps it would be best to let Miss Girard tell what she overheard, and then I will explain the circumstances that compelled me to bring this to your attention."

Headmaster Dippet swiveled his gaze to fix on Hermione, and she told him what she had overheard the two wizards discussing with the clerk, adding, "They were very particularly interested in Hogwarts students, Headmaster. That is what caught my attention."

"And why is this significant, Mr. Riddle?"

Tom was unperturbed by the headmaster's use of his last name. He did not like to bothered for less than consequential matters, but Tom was quite certain he would find it consequential once he had finished speaking.

"Well, sir, it appears that these wizards repeated the same questions throughout all the local shops—"

Here Abraxas reported how he had heard them ask much the same questions in the bookshop and the Three Broomsticks, while Evan said he had heard them ask in the new tea shop and Madame Tweaks' store. The headmaster still seemed unconvinced that this was a problem, but Tom continued.

"Of course, this could have been simply refugees inquiring about the school environs for their own children. It was when these wizards approached me to ask after a particular student—well, I found that to be very irregular."

Abraxas and Evan nodded in confirmation as the headmaster looked at each of them, then returned his gaze to Tom. He had baited the hook well, for the headmaster leaned forward in his chair.

"And which particular student were they inquiring about, pray tell?"

"Miss Girard," Tom said, taking her hand in his own and playing the concerned boyfriend to the hilt. "They requested to know which student bore the name of Girard, and of course I refused to tell them, and directed them to the school to speak with you concerning any student. They strongly demurred, which was strange. But what struck me as most peculiar was that one had some type of emblem on his chest…a triangle of some type, perhaps? It was hard to tell, as his cloak covered it for the most part, but I noted it and wanted to report it to you."

The indrawn hiss of the headmaster's breath was quickly concealed, but not before all had noted it. For her part, Hermione found Tom's acting to be beyond worthy of a BAFTA, so convincing was his appeal to the headmaster.

"This is indeed troubling…" the headmaster began, and Tom quickly interrupted as if he were merely continuing his previous statement.

"And of course I believe Professor Dumbledore should be informed, as Miss Girard is a member of his family and he would certainly wish to know if some strange wizards were seeking her—"

"Yes, yes of course," the headmaster said, standing up abruptly. "Miss Girard, rest assured that I shall inform Professor Dumbledore of these events myself, and shall make my own inquiries in Hogsmeade. I trust you do not feel frightened from the experience?"

The headmaster had taken her other hand and Tom had willing dropped her right, and Hermione swallowed at the nearness of the headmaster. He smelled of menthol and mothballs, an unpleasant combination in her nostrils.

"I am fine, Headmaster. I felt perfectly safe with Tom."

This last was, unfortunately, true, and it seemed to satisfy the headmaster, for he dropped her hand and shook the hands of Abraxas, Evan, and Tom in turn.

"Well done, lads. Off to supper with the lot of you—I will let you know if this prompts any changes to the Hogsmeade rules, Tom."

"Thank you sir," Tom said, and put his hand on Hermione's waist to escort her from the room.


	21. A Rocky Trial

**Good morning! Quick update again, I postponed work yesterday but I'm working today. Still planning on another quick update before the new term starts on Monday, so sometime this weekend. It will be a good one! ;) **

**I have read your reviews & have not the time to reply now, so a big THANK YOU will have to suffice! And an especially big hug to those who are recommending this story to their friends-thanks so much! Ok, be back later to do those review replies via PM and work on editing the next chapter. Enjoy lovely readers!**

* * *

_May 14, 1977_

_Herbert Beery flexed his hand and frowned. He could have sworn that the lighting spell he had performed was for fairy lights, yet he was bathed in the glow of a warm yellow spotlight. _

_"Frederick?" he called. There was only silence in response, and Herbert muttered to himself. "I don't know how any of these students think they can take themselves seriously as dramatists with such lax attention to staging!"_

_He cancelled the lighting spell with another flick of his wand and strode from the stage. It was such a thrill when the productions ran, and the audience filled the theatre with its thrills and applause. The rest of the time, however, he found it downright dreary. He flexed his hand again before he disapparated home with a crack. He pulled off his cloak and draped it carelessly on the hall table, striding into the kitchen to put on the kettle. An owl was waiting at the window, and a brief smile crossed his face as he opened the window._

_"Come in, Rosemary," he greeted the owl, removing the parchment from its leg and offering an owl treat to the patient old girl. He scanned the note, emotions flickering pleasantly across his face as he wrote a brief reply—__**I'd love to see you anytime, you know that**__. "Off you go then."_

_He snapped the window closed, stopping to check on his Puffapod seedling on the window ledge. It was innocuous as herbology specimens go, but it was easy enough to care for. He shook his head as a formless thought, some wisp of a memory flitted through. When that was done, he found the kettle had been shrieking, and from the amount of water left in it, it had been for some time. He frowned slightly—Albus wouldn't like that. He pushed that unpleasantness away and finished making his cup of tea. He entered his living room and stopped with a start—someone was standing by his fireplace._

_"Who are you?" he asked sharply. The man turned to look at him, a pleasant expression on his face._

_"It's me, Herbert. Albus."_

_A brief look of confusion passed over Herbert Beery's face before he finally fit the pieces together again. _

_"Albus!" He embraced the other man warmly, missing the sad expression on the other's face. "So good to see you! What a nice surprise!"_

* * *

The insistent knock at the door was the only reason Tom and Hermione broke apart. Tom swore openly, his hand closely pressed to Hermione's perfectly shaped breast beneath her prim uniform shirt. He looked at Hermione, whose face was flushed in that way he liked, her mouth open and panting from the intensity of their snogging session. He withdrew his hand quickly, casting a quick Tempus on the wall as he stood up abruptly and retied his tie, then donned his jumper again. _A jumper that Hermione was keen to get off you_, he thought smugly.

"Half past four. Whatever these idiots have done, it shouldn't take too long. I'll be back shortly, stay here," Tom said, running his hand through his hair to be sure he was well groomed before he flicked the door open with his wand and strode out.

"This had better be important," Hermione heard him bark, the answering tones of Sylvestrus Black echoing down the hall as they moved off.

"It's the common room—someone has gotten in with fireworks, and I can't put them out…"

Hermione leapt up from the couch and rummaged through her bag, silently thanking Fred and George for explaining to her how they had created some of the first products for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Younger Slytherins were quite easy to trick, and hopefully this would give her enough time to find the object that she was certain Tom had used to create the blood bond—that dagger. It had been a risk to let Tom talk her into 'studying' in his quarters this afternoon, but now she was glad she had gambled on the boys not being able to resist their "find".

Her reflection in the mirror in Tom's bedroom startled her briefly. She looked well kissed, her lips swollen and her cheeks still flushed, and with a terrible case of bedhead beside. All from letting Lord Voldemort touch her. She turned away from the mirror deliberately and refocused on her search, letting her wand seek out anything in the room with her blood on it. If he hadn't hidden it here, she was screwed.

"You'll be screwed if he gets back before you've found it," Hermione whispered to herself, quickly finishing her look through his chest, then the armoire. That left only his desk. As she approached it, there was a glow from one of the lower drawers, and Hermione knew she had found it. The false bottom was easily disposed of, but then there were the other protections Tom had cast.

"Wards…of course…" She was not surprised, but they weren't the easiest wards to break. However, a thought occurred to her, and Hermione prodded the first ward with her magic. "Well, Tom, you'll be happy to know the _Maleficium_ is being put to good use," Hermione muttered to herself, closing her eyes and literally feeling her way through the wards. It was completely instinctive, this process of finding a 'hole' big enough to extract a physical object, but Hermione felt it becoming easier and easier as she slowly pushed through them. Finally her fingers closed around the dagger, and she was able to pull it out through the wards. With any luck, she'd be able to put it back the same way.

"Accio _Maleficium_," Hermione said, the book zipping to her hand from her bag. She flipped to the correct page, then pointed her wand at her hand. If this worked, Tom would think the bond was still in place until he tried to use it. Gripping the vial of Tom's blood tightly, she sliced her hand again with the dagger.

"Please let this work," she murmured before she began to cast the spell.

* * *

"Albus, please," Herbert Beery said, gesturing gracefully to the sofa. "Sit down."

It was nearly a week since the incident in Hogsmeade, and still Albus Dumbledore had not pinpointed what it was about the whole situation that troubled him.

"I will have to go, Herbert. There is no question that he must be stopped."

"Yes."

Herbert's tone was final, and his face was a study in reserved concern.

"I regret that it has come to this," Albus said, pinching his forehead.

"Albus, enough guilt. You have done all you could over the past year to convince him. You must let go of the relationship you once had. He clearly abandoned it long ago, except when it suits his purpose to attempt to use it for his own gain."

"I am well aware of that, Herbert," he retorted, a bit more sharply than he intended. He sighed and paced away again, running his fingers through his auburn hair. "I'm sorry. I just cannot determine how to manage the situation here, either, and both are becoming urgent matters."

"Hermione seems happy enough to deal with Tom on her own," he observed. "I suggest you focus on the larger problem to wizarding society, and let the teenagers sort themselves for the time being. You cannot be all things to all people."

Albus Dumbledore was not inclined to be pacified by his friend, however well-intentioned he was. He was aggravated as he said, "I know Tom Riddle has done something to Miss Girard, and it is imperative that I get her back home as quickly as possible!"

"Perhaps you can kill two birds with one stone," Herbert offered reasonably. "She does come from France, and you will likely have to pass through there on your way to…_deal_ with Gellert. Once that is done, surely it will be easy for her to return, provided you have suitable arrangements made. If he is as unworthy of her as you say, he won't pursue her there."

The herbology professor had reclined in his chair, aware that Albus would not relax until he was well prepared to do so. Albus was regretting that he was unable to confide in Herbert as to why getting Hermione home was not the easy task he seemed to think it was. He paced again while Herbert took a sip of his herbal tea. Finally Albus acquiesced to the wisdom of Herbert's advice with a small nod of his head, aware that he would not receive any real relief until one of the two problems were solved.

"You are right. I will do my best to make inquiries on her behalf while I am there. I will keep the appointments I have already set concerning her situation to the best of my ability, too. I suppose Armando would have trouble getting Wiselworth here before Wednesday if I left earlier."

Herbert rose from the chair and clasped Albus' forearm. "There now, doesn't that feel better?"

Albus' expression was mournful but resolute. "This will be challenging, Herbert. I will not allow him to run away again this time."

Herbert gave his friend a hug and a pat on the back. "I know, Albus. Come home safely, I beg you."

"I intend to. And you keep Hermione out of danger, Herbert. Come up with something between you and Horace to keep them both busy. Idle hands are the devil's playground." He clasped his hand over Herbert's for a moment, then let it drop as Herbert's hand fell off his arm.

There was something in Albus' expression that gave Herbert Beery hope. He wished fervently that he was not misreading things, but it would have to wait. Instead, he nodded.

"It will be done."

* * *

"Hermione."

She turned and gave Tom her usual quizzical look. "What is it Tom? I have to get out to Greenhouse 5 to help Professor Beery with the _Mimbulus mimbletonia_."

"Right. I just thought you'd want to know that we have a combined trial in DADA again." He didn't miss the way her eyes narrowed, and she took one step closer to him before she thought the better of it.

"Why?" Her voice was infused with suspicion, and he didn't even bother with his innocent expression.

"Apparently Professor Merrythought has something a bit more challenging planned for us. Slughorn is quite upset about it, and he claims it's beyond NEWT level."

"Well, I'm not afraid of whatever she thinks is challenging."

"Of course you aren't," Tom murmured, running his finger down her cheek. "I'm looking forward to our Diagon Alley trip this weekend, Hermione."

"Of course you are," Hermione. "Don't you have to go pick on some fifth years or something?"

"Now, now, if I didn't know you were going to be covered in Stinksap at the end of the day, I'd insist on a study date this evening. You've been too busy for me of late, and it shows." They both knew that there would be very little talking involved if he got her to his common room.

"You'll see enough of me at the trial tomorrow," Hermione replied. "Run along and tutor your lackeys, then. I have to go."

He allowed her to pull her hand away from his. "As it happens, I have several potion bases to brew for Slughorn. However, I would like to eat dinner with you."

"No," Hermione tossed back over her shoulder, leaving the castle for the greenhouses. Tom frowned. She was getting a bit too comfortable with defying him.

* * *

"Good morning!"

"Good morning," Hermione returned, drawing her wand from her sleeve. There was no sign of Tom, so perhaps he had been mistaken about the trial. "Shall we go to the Dueling Chamber then?"

"No, no. Front gates, Miss Girard! You have a portkey to catch," Merrythought said, collecting her hat and tying it firmly under her chin before setting off for the front entrance. Hermione hurried to catch up with the spry professor, asking as they went, "But professor, I thought we were supposed to have duels—"

"Yes, that was the original idea, but yourself and Mr. Riddle have been selected for a different exam. The headmaster will explain further," Professor Merrythought said, nodding to where Tom Riddle stood waiting with Headmaster Dippet at the gates. "Hurry up, there's a dear."

"Miss Girard," the headmaster intoned. "Galatea, shall you explain the circumstances, or shall I?"

"Oh, by all means Armando," Professor Merrythought chirped.

Tom looked bored, Hermione decided, although at first glance he seemed as attentive as ever. _I'll bet he knows what it is already_, she snorted to herself.

"You have both heard of the wizarding prison Azkaban," the headmaster began, and instantly had Hermione's full attention, as well as Tom's. "As you know, the prison is located in the North Sea, and surrounded by multiple wards. Recently, the Ministry has had difficulty with some of the external wards that are remotely placed. They suspect magical creatures of…_interfering_ with them, for lack of a better term. Today multiple teams of Aurors and other specialists will be combing the outlying islands and islets to attempt to determine what creature may be responsible for the disturbances. I was asked to participate due to my expertise with certain types of creatures, and Professor Merrythought solicited your participation in lieu of a dueling trial, which we agreed would be a waste of your talents."

"Will we be required to enter the water at all, sir?" Tom asked coolly, and Hermione could see he was almost mentally flipping through spells necessary for such an endeavor.

"I certainly hope not. As this is not a typical trial, there won't be any particular end, simply the completion of the task. The island which has been assigned is large, but not so large that Professor Merrythought and myself won't be able to offer assistance should it become necessary. Please carry these amulets in case of emergency. Simply touch them with your wand and say, "Auxilium'."

Tom and Hermione accepted the leather cords and donned them, the small brass medallions gleaming in the early light of day. "I believe it is time, Professor?'

Professor Merrythought seemed distracted, her attention fixed on a broken china plate which was beginning to glow faintly. "There it is—time for us to go."

The four put their hands onto the plate and spun off, spinning down above a rocky island surrounded by storm-tossed seas. Although Hermione managed not to be tossed onto her arse as they landed, it was somewhat disgusting to see Tom walking down gracefully.

"We shall cover the east side of the island. Bearing in mind the types of magical creatures that inhabit these waters, please be prepared to defend yourselves. And for Founders' sake, if you find a red feather cap, summon us at once!"

With that, the headmaster and DADA professor took themselves off, leaving Hermione and Tom to begin combing the shoreline. Tom and Hermione exchanged a glance—Merrows. They definitely did not want to be in the water at any costs—the Merrow were vicious in their own medium, once they were done playing with you, of course. Hermione had pulled her hair back into a ponytail, a decision for which she was profoundly grateful as the wind was whipping wildly all around them.

"Well?" Tom said, gesturing toward the water's edge. "Shall we?"

"You just want me to go first because you know a Merrow wouldn't be interested in you," she said sardonically. A female Merrow would certainly be interested in Tom Riddle, with his smoothly handsome good looks.

"Ah, now, it's more I think you are hardly likely to be swayed by the smooth words of a green haired Merrowman," Tom responded evenly, his wand out. "And you are less interesting to a nymph."

"I think I should be insulted," Hermione said.

An hour passed without anything of note turning up. The sea spray was cold and caused Hermione's hair to drag, bits of sea salt drying into it and frizzing the ends terribly. They had covered perhaps a third of their portion of the shoreline when Tom found a small inlet, quite difficult to get to.

"We can't get in there without magic," Hermione whispered, and Tom turned his head back to her, having taken the lead when she wasn't as adventurous as he'd like. They both knew why casting anything would be a bad idea—this was just the sort of cove that the Merrow and sea nymphs liked, and if they cast anything except spells AT them, they would vanish before they could detect their presence.

"Nonsense. We just have to climb down." He had already tucked his wand into the pocket of his trousers, and turned to start climbing down, then raised his arm for her hand. "Unless you're too scared?"

It was a very steep outcropping, and the climb looked to be difficult. "Are you sure we can make it down safely?" she asked. "I'm not a mountain climber."

"If I was cliff climbing at ten, you can do this," Tom said, then more impatiently, "I'm going. Stay here then."

"Wait, I'm coming!" Hermione said quickly, pushing her wand into her arm holster and scrambling over the edge alongside him.

"Just let me guide you," Tom said, his expression intent as he looked down and studied the rock face. "This way."

Hermione wasn't sure how long it took them to climb down, some of the footholds and handholds being little more than a few centimetres wide. Tom was true to his word, spotting her foot placement by going before her. Her arms were aching by the time they made it to the bottom, finding a little ledge that ran all around the cove until a small bit of beach was revealed.

"Shhhh," Tom warned, which was entirely unnecessary because Hermione heard the crying as well. She crept up next to Tom and they both peeked around the boulder. A Merrowman was crying loudly, a cerulean nymph patting him on the shoulder, saying something in a screeching dialect that Hermione couldn't understand. She was beautiful, but Hermione knew that was all designed to lure the unsuspecting to the water's edge, where she would drag them to the depths and rip them to pieces with her teeth.

"Hold still," Tom warned, then tapped her on the top of her head. Hermione felt the runny eggs feeling of a disillusionment charm, then he murmured, "Stay here and listen."

Tom then stood and spoke, casting spells easily to prevent the Merrowman from returning to the water, and preventing the nymph from approaching him. "Excuse me, but I'm here to investigate problems with the wards. I won't hurt you, but I would like to speak with you, please."

Hermione knew he was speaking in that screeching dialect, the harsh language like a distant echo of his words in her ears. He must have used a translation charm alongside the disillusionment charm.

"How dare you, wizard! Let me go this instant!" the nymph began, but Tom made a show of putting his wand back in his pocket and held up his hands. Hermione's hand tightened on her wand, keeping a close eye on the sea creatures. Ironically, of the three before her, Hermione knew Tom to be the most dangerous, yet she was prepared to protect him over the other two.

"I simply want to talk. After that, you are free to go your way. I wish no harm upon you, nor do any of the wizards who ply these waters. We simply wish the attacks on the wards to cease."

"Liar!" the Merrowman spoke for the first time, his red nose practically glowing with his rage. "One of yours kidnapped my wife, and you do nothing!"

Tom's face remained calm, his diplomatic side in full force. "I assure you, the authorities know nothing of this. If you tell me what happened to your wife, we can see that she is returned to you."

"You are a foolish liar, wizard," the nymph snarled, and Hermione saw that she had gotten a foot into the water.

"_Petrificus totalus_!" The curse hit hard enough to blast the nymph back from the sea, and Hermione felt Tom's disillusionment spell dissolving, her wand pointing true, the nymph frozen with the snarl on her face.

"Oh ho, protecting your own wife, were you?" The Merrowman cackled, slapping his green scaled hands together. "Nelly, she got you, haha! What a good joke! A mere slip of a thing…but with hair and eyes the color of fine brandy…" an avaricious tone had crept into the green man's tone, and Tom whipped his wand out and pointed it at the creature.

"Don't even think about it," he said, the steel underlying his words enough to break the Merrowman's trance and draw his attention back to the wizard before him. His eyes turned sly and he canted his head to the side. "The Merrow don't like it when what belongs to them is taken, no they do not. You'd best tell those of your kind to return what belongs to us, or more than their wards will be damaged, oh yes…know a secret about that rock, we do, and use it we will if our rights aren't respected…"

"We'll be sure to pass along your message," Tom said coldly.

"You would know, you would know," the Merrow said, rocking with his knee up. "Know what it's like, to possess something so fine—"

That tone had crept in again, and Tom snarled, "_Silencio_!"

The man was laughing soundlessly again, and Tom turned to Hermione. "We should go tell the Headmaster that they need to find the red cap on Azkaban. Probably some idiot guard who thought a little companionship would help the isolation."

"Agreed," Hermione said, glancing again at the nymph and her pointy teeth. "And them?"

"I promised not to hurt them, and I will keep my word," Tom said, flicking the nymph into the air and then hurling her far out into the sea. Hermione did the same to the Merrow, and Tom took her hand to take them to the top of the cliff with a powerful Ascencio.

"Come on then. We still have to walk to find Merrythought and Dippet."

"I don't suppose some of the damaged wards are the anti-apparition ones?" Hermione asked.

"No. You can't apparate on any rock within thirty miles of Azkaban."

"Ah."

They walked on in silence for another hour. For a 'small' island, it was proving rather large by Hermione's standards. It was also riddled with small inlets and coves that made their passage even more tedious, as some of the stone was unstable and they had to test the ground everywhere before moving forward.

"We could just call for help," Hermione ventured, but Tom simply fixed her with a look.

"I doubt very much our professor would appreciate being called for assistance should we not truly require it. Besides, they may be in the middle of interrogations of their own. If a redcap theft really is responsible for all of this, it's best to have as many corroborating pieces of evidence as possible."

Since she really didn't have any argument for that, Hermione lapsed into silence again. They were nearing another twisting inlet, and Tom saw that it would require a small bit of climbing again.

"Wait. I want to check the route."

More than happy to have a chance to rest for a minute, Hermione nodded. The seas had gotten stormier, if that were possible, and the clouds were quite grim. She wouldn't be surprised if it began to rain. She had waited for a scant five minutes when she noticed it was growing markedly cooler.

"Stay there!" she heard Tom call from around the corner at the same time that she saw her own breath condense in front of her face, a vague sense of unease crystallizing as she realized—

"Tom!" she cried, scrambling onto the rock and pulling herself along the narrow ledge he had used. There was one spell that Tom Riddle never mastered, could never master. She moved as quickly as she could past the climbing part. What greeted her eyes was at once extraordinary and disturbing. Tom Riddle was face to face with a Dementor, but he was _talking_ to it, the spectral creature backing away as Tom stepped forward. The creature's senses must have detected her, however, because its large bobbing head whipped away from Tom and fixed on her, its body following.

"Hermione!"

Tom was furious, and he was forced to use the bond in a way he disliked, to forcibly push her away, the sensation like hot needles throughout his own bloodstream. There was no way he would be able to shift the Dementor when such a pure whole soul was there before it like a fucking banquet!

The words fell from his lips urgently, the thrumming need to send her far back rushing through his bloodstream. He was using enough force to send her back to the other side of the island, and yet she remained! He was beyond incensed when she _didn't go anywhere_, and _nothing happened_ when he called on the bond! He realized she had broken it, ripping the amulet from his throat and pressing his wand to it.

"Auxilium" fell from his lips at the same moment that Hermione pointed her wand at the advancing Dementor. She calmed herself for a split second to summon her happiest memory, yelling, "_Expecto patronum_!" as Tom's amulet glowed from its activation.

Tom watched, dumbfounded, as a magnificent corporeal Patronus burst forth, the Dementor barreling away in haste from the spectral otter that cavorted from Hermione's wand, disappearing into the clouds. She slashed her wand to the side, the Patronus evaporating into mist as Tom stared at her, not sure whether he wanted to kill her for breaking the bond or finally fuck her for hours.

"Mr. Riddle! You called for assistance?" Professor Merrythought and Headmaster Dippet appeared, dropping an identical amulet from between their fingers. _Twinned portkey_, Tom thought to himself, snapping into the present and thinking how to avoid mention of the Dementor.

"I asked Tom to summon you both," Hermione said hastily. "That's a bad storm coming, and we've found something out. It seems someone has kidnapped a redcap."

It took a few minutes to explain what they had found, the professor and headmaster giving them both kudos for their handling of the nymph and finding out what was the likely cause for the disturbances.

"Well, as you say Miss Girard, that is a nasty storm. Best for you three to be off. I will go speak to the Warden at Azkaban and give our report to the Aurors."

Professor Merrythought brought out the broken china plate, the first rain drops falling onto its surface as they were whirled away, back to Hogwarts, and a reckoning that was certain to be unpleasant.


	22. Claimed

**Woohoo, it's Friday! A few review replies for those without accounts or PMs:**

**LionsWing, thanks for the fabulous detailed review! I'm glad you are enjoying the flashes of Lord Voldemort. Seems several of you are eager to see him again in the future, we are getting there. :) And thanks for the wonderful compliments on my writing, I appreciate it!**

**Various guests, thanks for the virtual hugs and compliments. Glad you are enjoying the story.**

**uleanblue, I am still _slightly_ ahead of you guys with my writing. I don't really write THIS fast, I just had a lot already written before I began posting the story. It takes me several hours to get ~4k words down, and then I have to allow myself a few days for editing and taking a rethink to be sure it's doing what I want it to do before I will post a chapter.**

**Relatela, it's purely the result of me being on vacation. Alas, I am back to a new term on Monday with new students, so I will be busy again and the real life pace of approximately weekly updates will recommence. So enjoy it while it lasts!**

**L'Archange, I'm so pleased to be able to offer smiles with what I write. What a lovely compliment. I'm so glad all of you wonderful readers love this story and how it's unfolding. See above re: frequent updates, but stick with it, okay? I don't generally let stories hang around long, so the weekly updates are pretty certain unless I'm at a CRAZY BUSY time of the quarter, like midterms & finals.**

**Hello, I will point you above regarding the quick updates. I do write fast if I'm all charged up, but work sucks that energy out of me pretty quickly so that will slow me down again. Thanks for enjoying what I write!**

**juliaa, you are kind to mention the thought I'm putting in to this. I do try! As for Dumbledore, he is younger! That has consequences. Experience is a brutal teacher, as many of us can attest.**

**Okay, I put off taking down Christmas decorations to do this, peeps, so please be properly appreciative and give me lots of reviews, okay? And a reminder that this story is rated "M" for a reason!**

* * *

_September 20, 1979_

_Lord Voldemort strolled easily through the maternity ward. It was eerily quiet, a combination of the natural stillness of the hospital at midnight coupled with the silencing charms he had cast. The Muggle nurse was fast asleep at her station, a condition he ensured would continue with a small flick of his wand. He really hadn't time for this—it was most inconvenient given that damn prophecy. Nonetheless, there were steps that must be taken. He had not come this far to be thwarted by either a screaming brat or a mindless Death Eater rampage._

_The door clicked open easily enough, and the mother was spelled to sleep before she was roused to enough wakefulness to notice him. He drew closer to the bassinette, looking dispassionately at the sleeping infant. He let the back of his hand slip down the baby's cheek. He felt a tad warmer, a quiet hum causing him to close his eyes briefly. He had not felt that in a long time. He removed his hand quickly._

_"And so the clock begins," he murmured quietly, then swept from the room purposefully. Now was not the time to think of what was to come._

_The records room of the hospital was, as with all things Muggle, disgustingly easy to enter. The glow from one filing cabinet told him which contained the document that had triggered his detection charm. It was a simple thing to copy the birth certificate, the address a simple apparition away. It was a new home, part of a new neighborhood that appeared well to do by Muggle standards. With the father slumbering inside, Lord Voldemort produced the small dagger that he had recently acquired. _

_He was long inured to the sensation that most would describe as 'pain', and it was nothing to him how much blood it took to trace the foundations of the house. The ward itself was a tricky and sensitive piece of magic, especially since it was to remain latent on the building unless it were under direct attack, as well as remain unnoticeable to all save a few senior Death Eaters that he estimated would have the talent to detect it if they were in the right place to look for it, and a certain wizard. But by the time anyone looked for anything like this, she would be old enough to place such enchantments on her own. Voldemort sighed to himself. He would probably be best served to cast a little variant of the Confundus charm on the town itself. It was simplest to have the town be beyond anyone's notice. Yes, let the wizarding world simply pass it by, for the next eighteen or so years._

* * *

The meeting of his Knights had gone well. It was not hard to predict who would move into the Ministry, who would pursue apprenticeships and then Masteries, who would inherit the indolent privileges of wealth and influence. Everyone was well aware of where the disparate ribbons of their lives would take them after graduation in a scant three months' time. Their time was yet to come, and Lord Voldemort held every one of those ribbons loosely in his hand. He had his own tasks to accomplish before these men would be where they would be needed. But, first and foremost, there was his own future to see to.

"It's time to move things along," Lord Voldemort said quietly, the softness of his tone richly contrasting the hardness in his eyes. He turned to his two most trustworthy servants.

"I expect both of them to be prepared before we arrive, is that clear?"

"Immaculately clear," Malfoy replied, bowing low.

"By 2 pm. I don't want to be disappointed," Voldemort said, his yew wand twirling with haphazard purpose in the direction of Rosier.

"We will not fail you, my lord," Rosier said, practically prostrating himself on the floor.

"No, I think you won't," Lord Voldemort said, satisfied that things would proceed as he directed. "And Malfoy? Make sure Mr. Potter leaves Miss Girard alone, if you please. Let's just say, I want that message to sink in before we see him."

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked, and Tom shook his head.

It was three days after the DADA trials, enough time for rumors to swell about everyone's experiences before it would all come crashing out like a flood over a millwheel, the truth settling everyone down as they compared notes on banshees and grindylows during the Hogsmeade visit, or, for the seventh years, the Diagon Alley trip. After their unique trial, Tom had actually complimented her on the Patronus, not letting on that he knew about the blood bond being broken. She had assumed he was angry over the fact that she had rushed in, and he let her think that, setting her up for a very nasty Potions assignment with a patronizing look in 'retaliation' for her disobedience. She thought they were back on an even keel. How very wrong she was.

"You'll see in due time, Hermione."

His grip on her hand was firm, and for a moment Hermione thought that maybe he was just taking her to Hogsmeade instead of Diagon Alley, their feet following that path for a short time. However, she felt the tightening of his hold before they disapparated, and Hermione had no time to feel nervous before they had landed in a grassy clearing, Tom's Knights arrayed in front of them. She had a second to feel uneasy before Tom let her go, his wand in hand as he idly surveyed the area, then nodded to Abraxas.

"What have you done?" she asked uneasily, her fingers twitching toward her wand as she realized that this was not a pleasure trip.

"My dear Hermione, the question is rather, what will _you_ do?" He turned to gesture, and Hermione saw his servants turn their two guests around, blindfolds obscuring their vision. They were bound and gagged, his Knights holding their wands at the ready.

Hermione blanched. Phineas Longbottom appeared to be okay, if terrified, while Herecles Potter looked as if he had been tortured, blood flowing from cuts on his chest. His white shirt was dotted with blood, the Gryffindor tie askew and oddly sticking closer to his neck, a dark stain on it.

"Why have you done this?" she asked, her wand in her own hand reflexively as she backed away from him. It was a bad sign that he was not even bothered by this, his expression unruffled.

"I simply ask for your willing involvement in a little ritual, Hermione," he said, as if it were the most matter of fact, everyday occurrence. "Your participation will ensure your friends' safety."

"They were perfectly _safe_ at the school," Hermione said, her wand twitching. Lord Voldemort noted it, and his lips quirked up slightly.

"But they weren't at the school, Hermione." His voice was collected, but he noted how her grip on her wand tightened and his voice hardened in response, a warning in his tone. "This is not your game, pet. I would consider your answer to my request very carefully, as you haven't much time." His wand flicked without even looking at the two, and they both fell to the ground, writhing under the Cruciatus curse.

"Stop! Stop!" Hermione said, trying to break the curse by casting at Tom herself.

"I think not," Tom said, nodding to the Knights towering over the boys before he flicked his own wand toward Hermione. She felt the pull of his summoning spell on her wand, an inventive twist, but refused to relinquish her wand to him, weaving an impressive defensive ward.

"More convincing, please, gentlemen," Lord Voldemort commanded, and Hermione saw Herecles convulse, more lines of dark red appearing all over him. Phineas was wracked again by the Cruciatus, the muffled screams of both torturing Hermione's ears and her soul. Tom looked at her before turning his head idly, his wand snapping a different curse on Herecles, causing him to curl into the tightest ball possible, his face a wreath of agony.

Hermione threw two more of her own curses at Tom, which he dispelled easily, and spat out, "How _willing_ do you think I am going to be now, Lord Voldemort? Or have you forgotten what I said about fear being a poor motivator?"

Tom slashed his wand and began systematically dismantling her shields with such stunning proficiency that Hermione barely had time to attempt a bone eating curse from the _Maleficium _before Tom was in front of her, grabbing her wand with his bare hand as she cast and pulling her toward him with the other.

"Temper, temper, Hermione," he said, then turned her to see her friends on the ground. "Or do you really want to be responsible for this? Of course, if you don't _care_ if Mr. Potter is castrated today by that constriction curse, by all means, continue to resist me."

An agonized scream escaped from Herecles' mouth as Tom vanished both of their gags, the smell of blood stronger in the air now. Phineas was contorting in almost impossible ways, his throat too hoarse to make more noises than grunts. Hermione felt the weight of the future pressing on her back, an impossible choice before her. The Knights were silently watching, Abraxas and Evan holding their wands firm on the writhing boys before them.

"Please," Hermione begged, tears falling from her cheeks as she crumpled to Tom's feet. "Please. I'll do anything you want."

Tom cocked his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at her. "Why do they mean so much to you? Tell me."

Hermione knew what he was asking for. She heard her heartbeat thundering in her ears alongside the wet gurgling sound of Herecles Potter choking on his own blood. The twitches of Phineas Longbottom began fading into the ether, numbness overcoming her soul. She had lost. She had lost the second he had sent her back here. She was listening to her classmates dying, their future lines dying with them. The only choice lay in how much she could sway him with whatever she could offer, however she might do so.

"If you kill either of them here, just kill me. You will have changed the future so much, your own could very well vanish," she whispered, so quietly that only Tom could hear her.

She looked straight at him the entire time, and he could see her sincerity, _feel_ it in her magic. Still he did nothing. Hermione closed her eyes, then did something she had never done between them, even after the blood bond, after all the times he had touched her, caressed her and evoked a response from her physically. She reached out to him with her magic, laying it willingly before him. She knew what it meant.

"Please."

The world was suspended, frozen for one heartbeat, then two. Tom's magic flared, either the prequel to his wrath or to an irrevocable step. Hermione waited, laid bare before him in the most intimate and humbling manner, more than a mere supplicant begging for mercy. Mercy from _Lord Voldemort_. He looked at her, and Hermione wondered for one heart-stopping moment if he was going to reject her, crush her as he had clearly been capable of for so many months.

"Stop."

The command was quiet, but laced with authority, his wand snapping again toward Herecles. His Knights ceased their other curses on command, just as they had been trained to do. Hermione felt Tom's hand under her chin, lifting her face up to look at him.

"You're no longer needed here," he said to the Knights without looking at them, certain that his servants would do exactly what was necessary to tidy up the detritus from this little exercise of power without him even bothering to look at them. No, he was entirely focused on Hermione, their eyes locked in a wordless communication that said they both knew exactly what had been traded here this day.

"Come, my witch," he said, smoothly drawing her to her feet before his Knights began disapparating with their guests. He wanted them to see that she would retain her place, despite her necessary chastisement.

Tom's eyes were dark and swirling with mysterious thoughts and intentions, and Hermione was unable to look away from him. The dynamic of the situation had changed from antagonists to partners, the sudden truce sitting uneasily, like a lump in her throat, as she began to pay the price. He was compelling, completely at ease with his own power as it flowed around him, through him, and through her. Her own answered him, instincts ruling as their magics touched, first tentatively and then more eagerly, blending together at the edges with a warmth that was quickly becoming an inferno. Hermione wondered aloud, "How are you doing this?"

"This is High Magic, Hermione," he murmured into her ear, and she finally took note that they were in a stone circle, a fact he had previously obscured with a concealment charm. She saw a chalice, an athame, a primitive wand…

"This is a Bonding," she said, trying to pull back from him, retreat from the innumerable tendrils of his magic that he had wrapped around and through her own.

"Very good, witch," he said, nipping and then sucking on her earlobe. "It has already begun…you can feel the effects already."

He was thrilled with the small moan that escaped her lips, lips which she then unconsciously pressed to his neck. It was good that she was participating already. Her magic knew exactly what to do. It would make the tie between them much stronger. He looked at her, his hand cupping her cheek so his thumb could stroke her cheekbone, then caress her mouth. Her lips fell open at his touch, the heady gasp another sign of how much she wanted this. He could feel her pulse hammering throughout her body, adrenaline and fear mixing with the martyr complex she would assume if he allowed it. Of course, he would not.

"Are you a virgin?" he whispered in her other ear, placing a kiss just below the lobe. He already knew the answer; he wanted to hear her acknowledge the impact this day would have for her going forward.

"Yes," she whispered back, her heart stuttering wildly in her chest. There was no point in lying—he would know soon enough.

His voice was almost tender, darkly laced with seductive intent. "Ah, pet, you've made my day." He kissed her neck again, this time aggressively, giving her the choice of submission or continuing to fight. Of course, she picked the latter, shoving on his shoulders when he sucked a bit too hard. He smiled against her bruised flesh. Oh, this would be so good.

"You've picked the vernal equinox—" Hermione's brain spun, thinking about all the possible implications. He smiled again, vanishing her clothes with a thought.

"Do you know what I love about you, Hermione?" Tom asked, his mouth drawing closer to hers until his hovered right about her lips. He looked straight in her eyes, his own gleaming with satisfaction. "You think too much."

"_Why?_" she whispered, meeting his eyes as her fingers methodically stroked his chest, his clothes vanished as easily as hers had been. His skin was smooth, unblemished like marble, but hot beneath her fingers, sculpted.

"You've earned it," he said cryptically, and drew her closer to the center of the circle. The candle flame was being licked about by the rising wind, but it would not go out. He picked up the athame and held it out to Hermione. She had to start it. She had given her magic into the ritual, and even if her mind protested, she would see it through.

"I want a say in the words," she said bravely as her hand moved, taking the blade and cutting from the base of her ring finger down into her palm.

"You shall have it," Tom said, taking the knife and pressing evenly without regard to the pain, his cut identically placed. He held out his hand to her, waiting. His magic was building, hot and full, sweeping into every crevasse of hers and mapping her own magic as thoroughly as he'd map her body. It was heady and overpowering, and would have caused a less powerful witch to faint. But Hermione could take him, and was even now responding to him as he'd known she would.

"Give in to it, Hermione," he whispered into her ear before he finally claimed her mouth as his hand met hers, their fingers intertwining so the blood would mix easily.

"I will never _give in_ to you," she murmured hotly, breaking off the kiss despite the wrench of ephemeral pain it caused to ricochet along her aura, her eyes flaring as her magic grappled with his, asserting her own identity. Tom's eyes darkened, and his fingers tightened on her hand. She was such a spitfire, and from today she was all his.

"That's the idea, pet."

Hermione had read about High Magic bonding rituals, but performing one on the vernal equinox brought ley lines into play, energies being pulled up from the earth below their feet as Tom began the chants. He still had her hand clasped in his own, his fingers sliding between hers, intertwining with them as they moved in a dance dictated by their auras. If anyone had been present to see, it would have almost looked like a strange hand to hand combat, the primitive wand passing back and forth between their free hands as their magical essences dueled with each other in a vigorous debate. Words flew from their lips, each talking over the other at some points. Finally Tom silenced her with a scorching kiss, and the time for negotiating was past. The ritual vows emerged seamlessly from the wrestling between their magics as it flowed back and forth in an almost violent tussle. Some of what Tom said was in Parseltongue, some of Hermione's own vows in an ancient form of Pictish that was pulled forth from a blood ancestor she hadn't known she possessed.

Finally the vows were said; Hermione, and then Tom, drinking from the chalice. There were flashes of lightning from the violent swirl of a storm that their magical energies had summoned, and the ground rumbled underfoot as Tom pulled her against him at last. _At last!_

As soon as she had given herself over to her magical senses, the ritual was partially a blur to Hermione, the pain of the cut on her hand a blip that was healed and then lost in a vortex of feeling. Her magic was mating with Tom's, a wild and passionate dark thing that somehow matched the thorough and systematic manner in which Tom learned and worshipped her body.

"Your skin is beautiful," Tom murmured, trailing kisses down and around her breast, his hand tracing the scar left by Dolohov from the Department of Mysteries. "You _chose_ to keep this."

It was a statement, not a question.

"Another reminder," Hermione said, then pulled on his hair to claim his mouth again for a wet, needy kiss. Tom's hands trailed lower, seeking a different, wet softness. When he found it she gasped into his mouth, and he pressed his fingers firmly, intent on teaching his little witch exactly what kind of pleasure he could provide if she would give in to him more often.

When she was close but couldn't stand anymore of his teasing, she flipped him over and learned his body with equal attention, her magic demanding its own equal time, giving the ritual added depth. Her hands memorized the firm contours of his chest, her mouth was tickled by the hairs on his stomach, her fingers fascinated by the sharp planes of his hips. And how he moaned when she moved lower still, her curiosity driving a thorough exploration with her hands and her mouth. She could tell that Tom was delighted by it until he, too, had had enough. He pulled her back up, his head craning upward to return her kisses with equal fervor. His tongue dueled with hers confidently, his hand clasping the back of her head to ensure she wasn't going anywhere while he gripped her hip tightly. Then he reasserted his control, his magic roaring up at the same time that he flipped her to her back again and finally consummated the bond.

"Hermione," he said, clasping her face in both hands. He wanted to see her whisky colored eyes, watch his magic dance in them. They were completely connected, their magics steadily fusing at every point, their bodies equally in sync. It felt fucking wonderful.

"Tom!" It was more of a gasp, the blinding shock of penetration giving way to how rapturous it felt to be so connected to him. He moved again, his body pushing for a response.

"Wrong name, petal. Try again."

Hermione writhed, needing more. She closed her eyes, "Voldemort," slipping from her mouth.

She could tell he was pleased by that, his response in the way he pushed and hit a certain spot inside her, causing an undulation of pleasure to shoot through Hermione that was more than matched in its response from him as it washed through her magic. He read it easily in her eyes, in much the same way that she read his triumph and pleasure to have her beneath him, to be inside her and all through her at last.

"Perfection," he said, his voice laced with smug satisfaction before he dipped his head to taste her sweet mouth again.

Hermione couldn't help but respond to him, kissing him back before she moved her hips in retaliation for that smugness. It set them off again, both pushing against the other with a natural rhythm they had mimicked for months with every argument, every clash of wills. The natural spark between them had roared into a flame that was hotter than Fiendfyre. Hermione felt as though her whole being was singing for him, with him. There may have been a deafening roar, a blinding flash of magic bursting forth like an explosion when their pinnacles were reached, the delirious high of a magical bond completing itself rendering the physical act of sex far more gratifying. Hermione was so lost in the melding of her magic and her body that she wasn't sure. Her mind was busy enough trying to avoid blacking out from the massive adjustment as her magic synced completely with Tom's.

Tom's head dropped briefly to Hermione's neck as they both struggled to regain their normal breath, the weather finally impinging again on their conscious minds. Tom finally said coolly, "I take it as a very good sign that that didn't kill you, Hermione," before he withdrew from her and stood to clean himself up and clear away the ritual tools.

Hermione rolled to her side away from him and blinked back a sudden, hot rush of tears. _What have I done?_

She missed Tom's actions with a small piece of parchment as he cleaned himself, the words that appeared causing him to exhale softly. He tucked the paper away, though, before Hermione sat up and used her own wand to scourgify herself and summon her clothes. She was grateful that he let her be as he finished tidying away everything, ensuring the circle was as pristine as he had found it. She needed time, time to process what they had done, time to adjust to the feeling of his magic entwined with her own.

She was standing at the edge of the circle once again when she felt his presence before she felt his warmth, his power flowing easily between them as he came up behind her. Hermione rubbed her hand on her arm, her other arm clutched around her waist, feeling a dull ache and in need of the hottest shower she could stand. She needed separation from the wizard who was even now pulling her back against him, the hand that had intimately mapped her body completely at ease with it, resting lightly on her hipbone.

"We need to get back."

Hermione thought that for her, there was no back. Everything had changed. Everything. Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, pressed a kiss at the base of her neck and threaded his fingers through hers, the fresh scar on the inside of her ring finger a testament to just how drastically her entire world had shifted.

"I know."

She did know. What he had just done, what she had just allowed him to do—it was irrevocable. Permanent. Even when he died in the future and came back, this Bond would be there. Always. In essence, Hermione Granger had just become more than the wife of Lord Voldemort, the Darkest wizard of all time. As he turned them both into the darkness, Hermione had never wished so much to not come out of disapparation, to simply vanish into nothingness.

Of course, that was not what happened. She found herself walking back toward the school, her hand clasped firmly in Tom's. It was surreal, the way that felt right, natural. When he stopped them as they were partially concealed by the trees and pressed her close, kissing him felt like coming home. He made a meal of her mouth, devouring everything she had to give and then some.

"I will see you later tonight, Hermione," he said, and she knew she would go. _He_ knew she would need to rage at him, the guilt eating at her already.

"Tom?" she asked, closing her eyes briefly and then looking at him again. He was amused by the expression in her eyes. She had spunk, his witch. He owned her now, body and soul, and yet she was still going to challenge him. _Good_, he thought. _Then I shall not grow bored of her_.

"Yes, pet?"

The nuances which Tom Riddle gave to that pet name were probably markedly different to those any other person would give, but Hermione could lie to herself if she chose, pretend it meant something more traditional…or not.

"I hate you with a passion," she said, and he fisted a hand casually in her hair, pulling her head back gently but firmly.

"I know." He leaned in, his breath ghosting across her lips. "But it is passion, Hermione. Don't forget that."


	23. A Honeymoon, Of Sorts

**Good evening! Back to work tomorrow so it will be a few days before I post again. I don't want to give away anything but I'm excited for what is coming in the next few chapters. I have lots of reviews which need a reply, I will try to get to that! Many thanks for them all, I am delighted you loved it. Tom is in the driver's seat again, and those of you who are keen to see Hermione strike back, as it were, are going to have to keep your pants on. Ahem. They will not, though. At least, not in this chapter. You are warned.**

**LionsWing, you shall have to be patient for Hermione. Glad you liked the lemon and Tom's manipulations.**

**juliaa, glad you like Lord Voldemort's little future 'moment'. Why would he do such a thing? Hehe.**

**Cecile, thanks for the help with my French! I have fixed that chapter. Thanks for the review, I'm delighted that you like the story.**

**Anon, this new bond is quite an interesting thing. As with all else in this tale, however, it will take a while for its nuances to be fully appreciated. ;)**

**Okay, here we go. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Albus, I do hope your visit means that you have finally conceded the wisdom of my plans to revitalize the wizarding world." Gellert was still a striking man, but there were streaks of lines around his mouth, which had hardened with time and rendered him less attractive.

"Ah yes. All of your pronouncements about your activities being 'for the greater good'. You'll pardon me, Gellert, for believing that the only good with which you are concerned is what is in your best interest."

That earned him a tossed babbling curse, which Dumbledore easily deflected. Gellert's eyes narrowed, and he flicked his wand toward a door, doubtless summoning some of his minions to make Albus' life more difficult. "You've changed, Albus, and not for the better. I had hoped when I heard you were sniffing around about time travel that you had finally decided to explore your dark side, but I can see that I was mistaken."

"This is long overdue, Gellert," Albus Dumbledore said placidly, his beech wand flying to petrify two of Gellert's men who sought to stop him. Gellert retaliated with a Reducto charm that was powerful enough to topple one of the stone columns supporting the ceiling, surrounding them both with a cloud of dust.

"Tsk, tsk, such restraint, Albus—and after such a ruthless ending to the men I sent to Hogsmeade! Why hold back now, friend? Or has your Ministry really gotten its act together enough to hide them in custody from my spies?"

Gellert's wand, the Elder wand, flashed, and Albus brought his shield up just in time, the magical ropes fraying and dissolving.

"I don't know what you are speaking of," Dumbledore replied evenly, sending a cascade of diamond sharp icicles at Grindelwald.

Gellert dispelled it easily and threw a few more curses at him, testing him. "I am fairly certain they are dead, Albus. No one reliable saw them leave your little village next to the school. Call me cynical, but I do know how you are when you lose your temper."

Albus' eyes narrowed briefly at that. "Suffice it to say, you will have very few followers willing to go where I will send you."

Gellert barked with laughter. "You know the wand I wield, Albus. The wizarding world will be sorry to lose a great wizard such as yourself, but a message must be sent."

Thus began the wizarding world's most infamous duel. It was nearly three hours later when Albus Dumbledore finally summoned the Elder wand to his hand, Gellert Grindelwald sprawled, tied up with a little curse of his own making at his feet. As he had dueled, any friendly feelings he had ever felt for this man had died speedily.

"Go on, then. Finish it!" Gellert demanded.

Albus' tone was maddenly calm. "I think not, Gellert. You do not deserve such an easy death. As you put it so eloquently, a message must be sent…for the greater good."

* * *

"Tom."

"Hermione."

He stood aside and let her enter, well aware that she was a roiling mass of thought and emotion. He thought briefly about easing that, but decided he would rather hear her first salvo before touching her. So, he waited. She stood silently by the window, taking in the charmed view of the Forbidden Forest. She glanced over at him, and he remained silent, simply quirked one eyebrow at her.

The dam broke. "Your magic won't let me string two thoughts together!" she accused, although that was not the first of many things she had intended to say.

"You will find it more difficult to focus without me," he replied simply. "It is because I initiated the bond, not you."

He neglected to mention that that particular effect would wane as the bond matured. She would figure it out for herself, and in the meantime it might help keep her in line.

"So you have rendered me subservient," she spat, turning to fully face him. "How could that possibly benefit you? Other than to show me your dominance, a task which is easy enough without a High Magic bond! So what is really going on? You haven't attempted Legilimency, although that should be possible with this—_tie_ you have created—"

"I should think you know better by now than to expect me to be an open book," he said coolly, a bored expression on his face.

"I don't need an open book to know that you aren't finished with your plan to use me as your own personal crystal ball."

Tom laughed. "I've _already_ used you as a crystal ball, dear heart. After all, we were clearly not the best of friends in the future, and yet I've bound you to me more intricately than any servant."

"Because you need something from me," Hermione retorted. "My memories are the obvious choice…but you are never obvious, are you, Tom? So what else could I possibly bring you…"

She was degenerating into a speculative rant, and he'd had enough for today. Let her overzealous brain work on that question later. He wanted to enjoy her other attributes now.

"Quiet, little hellcat."

He was beside her before she even realized he had moved, his hand sliding beneath her shirt to firmly hold her at the waist, her skin melting at his touch as her mind calmed. His expression was disgustingly placid, but his magic told a different story. He was reacting to her, too. There was some comfort in knowing he wasn't as in control of himself as he liked to claim.

"This is worse than the other bond," she said, and he knew she meant the effect of their skin to skin contact. Her spirit rebelled against it while her body practically bowed with resistance at her attempt to sever it, her expression stubbornly fierce.

"Then you shouldn't have broken it," he said matter of factly, enjoying the way her aura flared against his at that, like an angry wave against the rocky shore.

"I had no choice but to break it," she retorted, her fingers flexing with a snap of energy toward his. He absorbed it without flinching, holding her easily with a stare expressing his amusement while the hand on her waist heated up her skin to an almost uncomfortable degree, causing her to squirm while he looked down at her patronizingly. She said, "You've spent a lot of time playing with _Heka_, haven't you?"

Tom let the back of his hand whisper down her cheek. "You do not need to know it all, Hermione."

She captured his hand with her own and nipped one of his fingers with her teeth out of pure irritation, then relaxed it into a half kiss, half suck of his fingertip when his hand on her waist moved smoothly down, beneath the waistband of her trousers and pants to stroke her bum. Her magic was humming contentedly at the attention from his, and it was pointless to deny that she found it arousing. She did not have to give into it immediately, however.

"I want to know what you're up to," she insisted. "There is no requirement for me to be oblivious—and surely you know I will persist in finding out what you're planning."

"Well," Tom drawled, his breath on her ear making Hermione's breath hitch in a manner that surely indicated some pleasurable contact to follow, "Right now I'm planning to shag the shit out of you for hours, and then perhaps I'll let you rail at me again."

Hermione winced at the thought. He had not exactly been gentle with her, as her clean up efforts in the shower had proved. He noticed and prodded her, "Did you think I was going to let such a fine Saturday night pass without enjoying your tight cunt again? I think not, my dear."

"Don't call me that. You hold nothing dear except yourself," Hermione said even as he rapidly stripped her of her shirt and trousers, pulling her to his bedroom. She expected him to use derogatory epithets, so that didn't bother her—but terms of endearment in a warm tone were too upsetting to the fragile understanding she had managed to forge of what existed now between the pair of them.

"I'm hurt that you could say such a thing," he replied in a tone that said quite clearly that he was mocking her. "You are my bondmate, pet, and therefore nearly as precious to me as myself."

"_Nearly_ for you is as far as Hogwarts is from Merlin's cave," she retorted, her eyes unwittingly straying when he pulled off his own shirt. "And we both know that I don't _have_ to sleep with you again at all. As unpleasant as it may be to you, I do still retain a degree of choice in the matter."

"I warned you not to try my patience," Tom said calmly enough, though his eyes narrowed slightly as he pulled her to him. "Don't try to tell me you don't squirm with pleasure when I do this," he said, deliberately brushing his thumbs across her breasts, twice, the sparse hair on his stomach tickling her own as he moved her steadily back toward the bed.

"Be that as it may, I can make this more difficult for you," Hermione said, resisting the impulse to press herself into him. "Unless you're prepared to give me something I want."

Tom's eyes sparked with amusement. "Bedside negotiating? Why Hermione, what a dirty girl you are."

She could tell he liked it, though, his magic subtly ramping up and causing her own to flare, which made her just a bit too needy, too fast. "I want to know what you did to me that day in the Room of Requirement," she said quickly, before his hands found out just how much she was responding to him.

"Whatever can you mean?" he said innocently, peeling her bra off and applying himself to the task of thoroughly distracting her.

"The day you tortured me…and don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about!" she hissed quickly while she could focus on the conversation and not the wet, lush pop of his mouth as he left one breast and turned his attention to the other.

"What are you willing to give me for that memory, dearest? And a shag today is insufficient, before you offer," he said, leaving the second breast a hard peak and pushing her easily down onto the bed. Oh yes, she was quite aroused already, from the scent wafting from between her legs.

"I'll shag you as often as you want," she said as he divested himself of his own trousers, her pants shimmying down her legs with a helpful little wandless spell he invented on the spot. "That's cheating!"

"Hermione," he said with a lovely, deep voice. "I'm going to make you come so hard you'll think twice before bargaining like this with me, pet. We both know I'll shag you as often as I want anyway."

"And if I make you come first? Will you agree to my bargain?" she asked breathlessly, arching involuntarily when he smoothly parted her legs and dipped his head.

"Oh, by all means…I accept," he said arrogantly, right before he took the first taste.

* * *

Several hours later, Tom disentangled himself from his sleeping…whatever she was, her hair a riot of curls on his pillow. The corner of his mouth turned up as he considered the sneaky manner in which she had won her little bet. She had been quick to get a binding vow from him on the subject, too, before letting him ravish her body in a very thorough manner. His little witch was growing quite proficient with wandless charms. His lips moved in a hiss of Parseltongue, testing the term he had read earlier on his tongue—_mate._ Yes, that would suit her; and very soon if he had his way. He flexed his wrists, any marks long gone. However, the memory of her mouth…now that would linger. This reminded him of the last instruction.

He cooled considerably at that thought. Rising, he clothed himself in an instant, then flicked several charms around the bed. It was time to see what other little secrets his mate had kept from him, apart from those she closely guarded in her mind. It wasn't difficult to decide what his first stop would be.

Moving about the castle at night was never an issue for Tom, but he had a moment's hesitation before deciding to apparate into her bedroom. If Rosier had not managed to talk his way into Miss Tynwyn's tights, he would simply Obliviate her.

The room was empty. Apparently Evan was going to get his Ostara gift of a pretty pureblood bride. Dismissing the irrelevant girl from his mind, he began looking around in Hermione's things, checking for wards and blood traces. There was nothing in her chest, nothing in the desk, nothing under the bed. Hmmmmm. He turned around the room, noting that nothing was out of place, the ordinary stone walls, the flagstone floor, scattered rugs…nothing unusual. Well, fortunately, he had a new way to look for anything she might like to hide. He murmured a little clause from their vows…a very useful little clause that prevented any _dangerous_ secrets between them. Of course, the definition of 'dangerous' was quite vague, wasn't it? It was all about _intent_…

"Oh, you are a clever girl…" Tom said under his breath as his wand pulsed once, then twice. "How much energy did you have to pour into this little self-sustaining gem?"

She had a hidden crevice gouged out in the stone of the castle itself. Since the castle would attempt to heal such minor injuries, she had a repeating Reducto charm in place, feeding off of the energy of the castle itself to keep the folio well hidden from prying eyes, a more advanced glamour making it look as if the stone were untouched. That would have taken quite a bit of work to get the castle to accept it.

"My sweet, you continue to surprise me," he murmured, leafing through the papers in various styles and ages of handwriting. She was trying to work out how to get home. He found the notes in her own handwriting to be the most interesting, however. It took him a bit to get the castle to accept the revocation of her charmwork, the stone beginning to fill in. Let her think he had taken them, or that the castle had swallowed them up. He almost wished she would blame him if she had the opportunity to discover the theft.

It was while he was musing on how he would enjoy punishing her for sassing him when his wand vibrated. He shrunk the folio and put it in his pocket, then disapparated straight back to his bedroom.

Hermione was thrashing around on the bed in the throes of a nightmare. That he even considered comforting her made him scoff at himself. Less than twenty four hours of sex, albeit an incredibly different, magically enhanced form of sex, and he was already compromising his principles. He stiffened noticeably—he knew himself very well, it would seem. He would not have a newly acquired asset turned into a weakness. Thus, he had no compunction about trying to slip into her mind, pleased when her dreaming mind allowed him to be pulled into the nightmare that was tormenting her.

It was like viewing a memory, but not through a pensieve. Instead he was swamped with her feelings alongside the events as they happened. Tom had little difficulty adopting the mindset of a passive observer, his mind missing nothing as Hermione's heart raced and she was swept along by the currents of her dream. Her feelings were easy to dismiss, for the most part—he had seen many of the same fears and terrors in plenty of others.

_Acromantulas swarmed over walls and a giant's foot narrowly missed crushing them as they rushed forward, seeking egress from the castle. Duels were taking place all around, flashes of light that dimmed as all the happiness in the world seemed to be sucked out of her, her otter evaporating as the hellish dark it of despair overwhelmed her—that damn locket, whispering its filthy innuendo, the broad shouldered back of a boy leaving in anger, his red hair dull against the bleak landscape—there was nothing left to draw on before blackness encroached..._

_The vision blurred and she was crouched down behind a dirty pane of glass, hearing a terribly thin, cold voice saying, "You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen…"_

_A giant snake struck, a spurt of blood lacing the pane as shrieks of pain, then a grunt, heralded the close of the attack, the greyish hem of robes trailing away, the large patterned skin of the snake rolling behind in an ensorcelled cage._

_"Harry! We've got to help him!"_

_A face bounded by greasy hair was paling rapidly, blood pouring from the wound in his neck which he could not staunch._

_"Take it—take it—" Memories poured forth from his eyes, and she conjured a crystal vial for them, holding it out, trembling. Her hand seemed to waiver, blurring, then was pulled back to life by the cold, lifeless visage beneath her hand. It was a different face, thin, mustached…her eyes moved to the next corpse, a woman with pink hair, then a small boy, almost unrecognizable._

_"No…no…no…" The tears were falling, she couldn't stop them._

_"Hermione."_

_She tried to shake off the hands. She didn't want to receive comfort, didn't want to be interrupted in this grief, this aching sadness at such loss_…

"Hermione!"

She woke with a start, her head bumping against the pillow from the force Tom was using to shake her awake. Her lungs sucked in a noisy breath, her heart pounding as she reoriented herself to time and place.

Tom regretted the necessity of waking her from a dream that was clearly a jarring mishmash of real experiences that haunted her still. A _battle_ at Hogwarts—and only one person would have a snake like that! That he could use their bond to infiltrate her mind during dreams was an unanticipated perk, but he could not stand the sensations that had crawled through her at the end. It was like something crawling through his magic, completely untenable and more distressing than mere pain—he had had to wake her up, to sever that sensation at its root before it caused him more distress. Incredibly, he had the fleeting thought that whatever it was, it actually made her stronger.

"You were having a nightmare," Tom explained impatiently, and Hermione took in his clothes, instantly suspicious.

"Why are you dressed?"

"I couldn't sleep. I retrieved this for you from Dumbledore's office," Tom said, holding up the crystal vial containing her memory of her arrival.

"What? He'll know that it's been taken!" Hermione said, but Tom was unfazed.

"Would I leave it empty?" His usual arrogance was now back in place, and Hermione closed her eyes briefly to think.

"How?" she asked.

"A memory of darkness is hardly enlightening, no matter its source," Tom said. "Shall I?" he offered, holding up his wand.

"No thank you," Hermione said with narrowed eyes, Accioing her wand and reaching to pull the vial from his hand. She wouldn't trust him as far as she could throw him with one of her memories and her mind.

"No questions for me about how I made it past his wards?" he taunted, leaning forward so his face was close to hers while his arm tilted backward, keeping the vial out of reach.

"I don't doubt that there are few wards within this castle that you could not wrench apart should you wish it," Hermione said, eliciting a flash in his eyes.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Hermione."

"It is not flattery, simply truth. Now did you intend to give me back my memory, or are you merely playing another of your games?"

"You, my dear, have never been a game," he offered, scooting her bottom closer to him on the bed as he let her fingers close around the vial. She ignored the way he nuzzled his mouth into her neck, withdrawing the strand of her memory from the vial and replacing it in her head.

"That was unenlightening," she said a few seconds later, then tried to shove him away. "Ease off, Riddle!"

"We have two hours until breakfast begins," he said, his fingers working at the sheet between them. For a moment he sounded like nothing more than a hormonal teenage boy, and she shoved him again, her magic increasing mildly in a manner that probably indicated she'd try to hex him.

"I'm too sore for another go, you prat!" She would have blushed if she weren't so annoyed, well aware that she was stark naked beneath the sheets of his bed, and that he would not hesitate to take advantage of that fact shortly if she didn't stop him. Tom held up a different vial, this one containing a crystal violet colored potion.

"I can fix that, dear bondmate. Simply a little stop in Slughorn's potion stores—the only catch is that it has to be applied vaginally."

"I need to get back to my own room," she tried, and Tom smirked.

"I assure you that your roommate won't miss you. I'll take you back in enough time for you to be noticed going to breakfast."

He was rubbing her neck now, massaging it with one hand while he pressed kisses on her cheek and lips, his other hand stoking the swirls of their mingled magics again. It has to be said that Tom's magic was wildly persuasive. When Hermione felt the lush swell of arousal as he massaged the potion into her tissues with his more than capable fingers, she had to admit that Tom's idea of bedplay was quite intensely pleasurable. She only wondered how long it would last.

* * *

_October 31, 1981_

_Lord Voldemort pinned the group of Death Eaters with his basilisk stare, tilting his head to the side. "I trust you understand me when I say that I will neither forgive nor forget should you fail to accomplish this task."_

_"Of course, my lord!" Rabastan Lestrange said with a bow as Rodolphus inclined his head coldly. Bellatrix exchanged a look with her husband, and offered, "My lord, if there is *anything* we may do to assist you with the Potters…"_

_"Do you think I require your **help**, Bellatrix?" Voldemort asked coldly, his wand pointed at the witch so quickly she could only gulp in fear._

_"Of course not, my lord! I LIVE to serve you, my lord, I would do ANYTHING…"_

_"Enough! Just determine where the Longbottoms are hiding their brat!" Voldemort said, the lung compression hex turning her face briefly into a satisfying shade of puce before his wand flicked away and he turned to face his potions master._

_"Severus," he said impatiently, walking away from the four plotters. "Walk with me."_

_Voldemort had little doubt that Bartemius would find out who the Longbottoms' Secret Keeper was. It was merely a matter of time. Severus was valuable, sparing his time from tedious potion brewing when he had other, more pressing matters to attend. Thus he was willing to hear what his potions master had to say before heading to Godric's Hollow._

_"My lord, I would make but one request of you," Severus said urgently once they were far enough away from the others for Voldemort to cast a Muffliato charm. "Lily Potter, my lord. Please—"_

_Voldemort's eyes narrowed. He wanted no misunderstandings here. "Severus, you are a highly talented potions master. I respect your skills and your unwavering loyalty. As such, I am prepared to grant this boon you seek. **However**—" he paused to look Severus directly in the eye, "—should your…friend not step aside, you must accept whatever consequences she brings upon herself."_

_Severus was practically writhing in pain at the thought, but he nodded, doing his best to mask his response to the picture those words painted. This was insufficient for Voldemort, however, because he physically manhandled him, shoving him up against the wall with his forearm pressed against Severus' thin chest. _

_"Are we clear, Severus?" he asked pointedly, his eyes flashing like ruby coals in the dark hall._

_Severus wanted to lick his dry, cracked lips, but he could not when he was pinioned like a butterfly by the Dark Lord's gaze. "Perfectly." _

_Voldemort released him and moved away without a backward look. Enough of these petty requests. It was time to complete the calculations and prepare for the evening ahead. Pettigrew glided silently up to him, and he gave the sly man a moment of attention. _

_"Be prepared at 7 pm sharp," Voldemort said, and Pettigrew bowed his head._

_"Of course, master. I live to serve you…" _

_Voldemort swiveled his head, petrifying Pettigrew with his look. The expression on his face was always gratifying—that of an eager puppy desiring praise, but equally willing to accept a kick to the head. This particular man fed on praise, keen to know someone appreciated him. He would take scraps of praise forever before daring to stand on his own, and that is how Lord Voldemort knew he would always be his._

_"I know you do, Peter. You are one of my most trusted servants."_

_"Thank you, master!"_

_The little man practically preened under the compliment, but he had no more time for niceties. He waved him away and entered his chambers, releasing the charms holding his Arithmancy work at a standstill. There was something missing, a variable that wasn't accounted for here…yes, there was Hermione, that arrogant Black bastard, Severus' twisted past with Lily…Herecles…but it didn't add up. The equations were off, and in such a way that he knew something was out of order, throwing off the entire series. Frustrated, he incinerated the papers and slammed his fist on the desk._

_"Enough!" He took a deep breath. His temper was quite short now, and things were setting him off that should not. He recognized this loss of control as dangerous, but it was too late to fix it, for now. _

_This was why he'd never liked Arithmancy. Divination was far more reliable, especially with a specific prophecy. Resolved, he took a deep breath and cracked his neck. Yes, that was better. He hated indecision. It was quite clear what had to be done. A flick of his wand revealed that a few hours remained until his little visit to the Potters. Plenty of time for a visit to Richmond._

_He despised the need for a glamour, but it was quite effective. It formed almost without thought as he approached the Muggle playground. He had to deliberately slow his steps, but the disguise was worth the effort. There was Mrs. Granger, laughing as Hermione ran around the playground, shrieking at the flurry of leaves she was throwing up in the air around herself._

_"Oh, Mr. Delvolmot, how are you?" Jean Granger smiled pleasantly at the old man, who wheezed as he lowered himself to the park bench. She was quite used to the attention Hermione garnered from the old age pensioners in their neighborhood._

_"Ah, bit of pneumonia a while back, just getting back to myself…" he said, pulling a small candy from his pocket. "May I?"_

_Mrs. Granger's expression was wry. "Low sugar, I hope?"_

_"Of course," Voldemort said with the false indignation of the elderly who are certain of getting their way. _

_"Hermione, look who is here!" _

_The chubby toddler's sparkling brown eyes lit up when she saw the oval lolly in his oustretched hand, and she ran as fast as her legs could carry her over. "Tanks," she breathed, her hand touching his own to accept the lolly._

_"Oh, you can do better than that," Jean laughed, and Hermione threw her hands around his neck and squeezed. Voldemort felt the anger recede, the pleasant warmth a steady promise. She broke away and ran off laughing again, the prize lolly in her hand. She was remarkably accepting of the fact that she would not be allowed to have it until later, a hint of her natural self-discipline already present. She was swirling the leaves around again, Voldemort and her mother both watching her fondly. It was a small thing for him, to cause them to swirl in lovely patterns, the rising wind making it plausible—one of those occurrences Muggles deemed 'magical' without internally actualizing that magic was, in fact, what it was. The sound of Hermione's childish squeals of delight and her goodbye hug echoed in his mind as he watched them depart for their home and he returned to the demands of reality. Time was a cruel mistress._


	24. Boomerang

**Work has been dreadful today, so I lost myself in my story and got this chapter ready to post. I have not had time to reply to any reviews, and for that I apologize. I will do my best to get back to some of you tonight. Do pardon me if you don't receive a PM this week, it really is just a question of limited time and energy. Please, enjoy, and thank you SO MUCH for your marvelous comments. It means the world to me.**

* * *

Hermione struggled to focus on the proportions of calcite and vermiculite she was supposed to be mixing for repotting the fey lanterns. Everyone in class was quiet, as the plants didn't respond well to noise. Professor Beery had a deservedly fearsome reputation when it came to disrupting the greenhouse growing schedules, and no one in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw dared to risk destroying an entire crop.

Tom had restored her memory as obligated yesterday afternoon. Predictably, she had been less than pleased, resulting in an argument that saw her spend the night in her own bedroom after some clever manipulations of Olivia at dinner. Hermione had had to endure a "girl's night", but it had been worth it to irritate Tom Riddle. Now that the school week was resuming, he would have to settle for less than endless hours of her company, and he knew it.

Her hand shook slightly as she thought about the dispassionate manner in which he had tortured her then. That was not the worst part, however. She was now faced with the very large question of what the note he had sent actually said. His voice when she had pressed the subject had been memorably offhand.

"It is in the top drawer of my desk—help yourself if you're so keen to see it."

Of course she knew this meant disappointment, but the note had been written in a curious script that resembled Ogham but was not Ogham. He hadn't bothered telling her what it was, simply smirked and gone back to his composition of his Magical Theory essay on goblin made objects.

"This is Parseltongue," she had said, and he'd finally given her his attention.

"Of course it is," he said. "I'll even read it for you."

_Bastard_. She had the same thought, then and now.

"Of course…because he's just too damn clever for his good," Hermione whispered to herself, eliciting a "Shhhh!" and a frown from Phineas which called her back to the present. She halfheartedly resumed mixing the soilless mixture, turning over what she could do. _If_ he was defeated by Harry in the future, then she would be free. _If_… She had been so certain that Harry would prevail, and Harry himself had seemed confident, even taunting Voldemort as they dueled. It was the only hope she had left. Tom would be able to find her if she ran away here. She sighed and stabbed her trowel a bit too vehemently, causing the bag of calcite to split and spill onto the gravel floor. She was cleaning it up when the door to the greenhouse opened, and she heard,

"Albus, good to have you home!"

Herbert Beery's face was pleased, but Professor Dumbledore had no time to pay it any particular attention.

"I wondered if I might steal Miss Girard for a short time, Herbert. Simply something that requires discussion—I imagine I shall return her to class in about twenty minutes?" he said quietly, noting that Hermione's head had bobbed up at his approach.

Hermione dusted the powdered calcite from her hands and removed her dragonhide apron quietly. The entire class was hushed, some Hufflepuffs even afraid to take notes for fear of scratching too hard with their quills.

"This way please, Hermione," Professor Dumbledore said, gesturing toward a disused greenhouse that was presently overrun with creeping kudzu. "Mind the gnomes."

"I'm very pleased that you are back, sir," Hermione said, but Professor Dumbledore was tired, and in no mood for pleasantries.

"Hermione, I believe I may have discovered the means of your arrival here. But before I tell you the particulars, I must ask you, are you aware of any magical objects that you have reason to believe may be associated with your arrival? Something that perhaps may have been removed from your person?"

Hermione's heart leapt. Was it possible that she could go home? A lump suddenly formed in her throat—there was so much that had changed for her. Professor Dumbledore must have seen the cascade of emotions on her face, because he frowned slightly, concerned.

"Is there an object that is in the possession of Tom Riddle, perhaps?" Albus asked, and Hermione suddenly found it impossible to speak. She didn't know if it was because she was overwhelmed by the possibility of returning, or because she was prevented from speaking by the bond with Tom. Whatever the cause, apparently Professor Dumbledore took the sudden filling of tears in her eyes as an affirmative reply.

"I'm going to take you back to class now, Hermione. I will go search his quarters myself. If such an object is there, I will find it. Come."

Hermione felt as though she had been shoved into a box of cotton wool. Professor Dumbledore guided her back to the greenhouse and spoke a few words to Professor Beery, then disappeared. The minutes ticked by, and Hermione's brain had seemingly slowed to an agonizing crawl. She could hear Phineas talking to her, as if she were underwater. The class ended and her classmates trickled out, but Professor Beery kept her back with a hand on her shoulder and a kind word.

"Professor Dumbledore asked you to stay, Hermione. He will be back shortly, I'm sure."

* * *

Inside the castle, Dumbledore paid a brief visit to his office. He wanted to be sure of those last few seconds before Hermione's arrival. If he remembered correctly, there had been a brief flash before she blacked out. He thought it was blue. When he viewed the memory in the pensieve, however, there was nothing but blackness. He pulled out of the memory and frowned. Drawing the Elder wand from his robes, he headed swiftly toward the Head Boy's chambers. Something was more amiss than he had expected, and he would get to the bottom of it today.

* * *

"I doubt that you would be able to stabilize a base such as that," Professor Slughorn said patiently. "The infusion of wormwood will react violently with the aubis of sulphitus, and if you even managed to get that far, the dragon's blood would nullify the effects of the ambergris, as well as dangerously amplify the tendency of boomslang skin to explode. No, I think this would be a poor choice for your final project, Tom."

Tom Riddle was patiently decanting the Impervio Polaris potion he had completed, the last of the NEWT level potions that could possibly appear on the exam. Slughorn checked the consistency of the potion and a look of respectful admiration crossed his face. "You are an extremely competent brewer, Tom. I do wish you would consider a Mastery in the subject—you would do exquisite work."

"Thank you, sir," Tom replied, "but I am leaning toward Magical Theory. I believe that not enough work has been done on the interplay between magical laws."

"Well, still time to change your mind, you know! Just under three months until graduation, and I'm sure—"

Tom set the potion flask down abruptly, a searing pain flashing into his consciousness. _Hermione_. He covered it quickly, picking up his wand from the table. "Excuse me, sir, but I see that it is nearly half past four, and Hermione was supposed to be here by now. She was working in the greenhouses, and I want to be sure she isn't hurt. Excuse me."

Slughorn looked startled, but he recovered quickly enough. "Oh, well, quite—let me come with you. I am sure that she is quite well…"

Tom was already exiting the classroom, his loping stride eating up the distance to the closest exit and most direct route to the greenhouses. Slughorn was hard pressed to keep up, but keep up he did. He had not forgotten what Albus had said.

* * *

"Thank you, Herbert," Dumbledore said as he returned to the greenhouse. In his pocket lay a dagger. He had been unpleasantly surprised by the level of the wards which Tom Riddle had employed, but being the Deputy Headmaster gave him the privileges of that rank, and no student's personal effects were safe from search if circumstances were deemed to require it. He wasted no time in broaching the subject with Miss Girard.

"I found this among Tom Riddle's personal effects, Hermione. Do you recognize it?"

Hermione's heart was beating a rapid tattoo, and she nodded. "Yes."

Professor Dumbledore's countenance was troubled, and he explained, "A dagger identical to this was found inside Nurmengard, and was reported to be used by Grindelwald in some of his more atrocious acts. Fortunately, such things are at an end now, but I'm afraid I must insist on another attempt at seeing who put that curse on you."

Hermione was extremely uneasy about this turn of events, and attempted to explain. "Professor, I don't know how an identical dagger came to be in Nurmengard, and I can't even tell you why it's familiar. However, I do not understand why you believe you will suddenly see more than was allowed the last time you tried to look in my mind."

"I also stopped by my office to refresh my memory about your arrival here. Instead of finding your memory, however, I found a substitute had been put in its place. Someone broke into my office during my absence and made that change. I am at a loss to understand who would do such a thing other than yourself, Hermione."

Hermione darted a glance at Professor Beery, who had a stoic expression on his face. No help there, not that she had expected any. "I did not break into your office while you were pursuing Grindelwald, Professor."

"The terrible thing is that I believe you, Hermione. However, you have gotten quite entangled with a boy who, if I am correct, has pulled you down into a dark morass of intrigue and has used you as the coverplate disguising a great deal of maneuvering. Now, you'll excuse me, but this is quite necessary. _Legilimens!_"

It was no longer the beech wand that he wielded. Although Hermione had fortified her mind, Professor Dumbledore's Legilimency with the Elder wand was quite a bit harsher than his previous attempt. Hermione could feel her Occlumency walls fraying, a slow burn that gave way suddenly to pain when he hit the first redirection. This time, however, it was far worse, as Professor Dumbledore was intent on making his way to the memory he sought—that of her arrival. The fact that she had it once again made her an accomplice at best, if not the perpetrator of the office break-in.

"Please, stop," Hermione said, but Professor Dumbledore was determined to ferret out what exactly Tom had done to her. The pain in her mind was relentless, either as a consequence of Tom's spell or the nature of the bond itself as it tried to protect its existence from discovery.

The door to the greenhouse burst open and Tom Riddle entered, wand in hand. He took in the scene in an instant, weighing whether he could possibly curse Dumbledore and get away with it. Hermione's face was a mask of pain. Before he could make the decision, Professor Beery drew his own wand with a lightening speed that few knew he possessed.

"Expelliarmus!" he said decisively, Tom's yew wand flying to his hand.

In the split second in which his wand left his hand, Tom spoke quickly. "Stop it! Can't you see you're hurting her—she's a natural Occlumens!"

Professor Dumbledore did cease, giving Hermione moments to recover while Tom stared angrily at Beery and Dumbledore. He had started to go to Hermione's side under the pretense of a concerned boyfriend, but was stopped by a cold stare from Dumbledore.

"Tom. I wonder what brings you here?" Professor Dumbledore began as Tom's eyes slid to the table, where the dagger lay exposed.

"Breaking into students' rooms now, Professor? Surely that is against school rules without a pressing reason," Tom said as Professor Slughorn arrived, panting. He took in the tense scene between the two students and professors, and wisely chose to remain silent, instead trying to catch his breath and surreptitiously make sure he had his wand in its usual spot.

"Horace, glad to have you as well. After all, this is concerning some malfeasance on the part of your student, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said, picking up the dagger. "Why did you have this item in your possession, Tom?"

"That is none of your business," Tom said. "Students are allowed to possess magical items, as long as they are not dangerous."

"But this is dangerous, Tom. This is a portkey, and one which works within the Hogwarts wards. One just like it was found in Grindelwald's fortress. But I suspect you already knew that, just as you knew that it was associated with Miss Girard's arrival. And you also knew that she could not return home without it."

Tom took on the practiced expression of innocence and ignorance. "I'm afraid I've not the pleasure of understanding you, Professor. That was given to me by a friend. If it has any special properties, I am unaware of them."

"So you would have no problem with Miss Girard returning home, then? Or has she outlived her usefulness to you? After all, her master is incarcerated, and will not leave his cell for the duration of his life."

"I have not the pleasure of understanding you," Tom said coldly. "Of course I don't want Hermione to go home. I believe she has begun to care for me."

Hermione's head was reeling from the experience of having Dumbledore as an unwelcome visitor inside her head, but she began laughing somewhat hysterically at that, her mind incapable of not finding the deep, deep irony of Tom's act wildly funny.

"Hermione—" Professor Beery began, but Albus Dumbledore had had enough.

"Herbert," he said, and several things happened at once. Professor Dumbledore picked up the dagger and in one swift move pressed the blade into Hermione's hand, causing a well of blood from the thin line cut by the sharp edge. Tom moved toward her, but was physically stopped by Professor Beery. Slughorn began to say, "Albus, let's not be too hasty—"

"_Textor locus portus_," Dumbledore thought, pointing the Elder wand at Hermione Girard and stepping away as the dagger glowed blue, and the girl was whisked away.

"No!"

The anguished cry from Tom Riddle's lips was the most honestly emotional response any of the three professors had ever heard from the boy. It was seconded only a moment later by the look of hatred on his face as he regarded Dumbledore, then summoned his wand and left the greenhouse.

* * *

Three months later, Albus Dumbledore stood on the Astronomy tower and watched the students leave after yet another year. His eyes followed one figure in particular, a tall boy who walked quickly toward the train, never to return.

"Do you think he will look for her?" The gruff voice interrupted his thoughts, and Albus turned to look at Herbert Beery.

"I don't know," he said honestly.

"Horace seemed to think that he was still upset about the whole thing," Herbert observed, putting his own hands on the railing, his hips canted back as he mused about the manner in which the situation had unfolded.

"Horace is still predisposed to the belief that Mr. Riddle is a young man in good regulation of himself."

"Perhaps he is," Herbert said, touching Albus' hand lightly, which caused Dumbledore to look at him. "I do not believe Tom Riddle lacks regulation. What he lacks is a moral focus, and that is perhaps what will lead him into trouble."

"It has already done so," Albus replied, but it was without heat. It was a familiar argument, but one that had lost its sting with the boy's graduation. He was no longer Albus' concern.

"So you claim, but you never did produce any evidence of his misdeeds. Even you must be charitable enough to admit that."

"Ask Hagrid about that," Dumbledore replied as he gazed down at the students again, then flicked his eyes back to Herbert. "But I do not wish to argue about this anymore. It is a futile argument, and I am too old for such folly."

Herbert's eyes warmed imperceptibly at that. "I am glad to hear it."

Albus exhaled loudly. "Thank you for supporting me this year. It has been difficult, and would have been more so without your counsel."

"I am happy to be of service in any way you require," Herbert said softly, his own gaze returning to the students. When Albus placed his hand over his on the rail, the small seed of hope he had nurtured burst into glorious leaf.

* * *

Tom Riddle was pleased. His last meeting with his Knights had gone exceptionally well, and he was now set to move forward with his plans to travel. Some of his Knights thought it was in pursuit of Hermione, while others were convinced he was pursuing magical artifacts that had been held by Grindelwald. He didn't care which version appealed more to each individual Knight, so long as they were content with the explanation. It gave him freedom of motion in a manner he very much required at present. Soon enough they would lose any illusions which some still clung to regarding his humanity.

He pulled the scrap of parchment from his pocket, sounding the words out in the quiet of the Head carriage.

"_Protect her…claim her willingly…send your mate back_". The syllables hissed and rolled in the still air, and he felt content. Another plan successfully executed.

* * *

_May 1, 1998_

_Voldemort hissed with anger. How could they have gotten in, HERE of all places? The goblins were dancing around him, their words blurring into a jumble of noise. He heard one word—"Hermione". Of course. His wand flashed in fury at the goblins and wizards who had been jabbering at him, finally finding blissful silence in which to think through his rage. _

_He strode among the ruined dragon shackles and the dead goblins, his anger past its peak now. His feet were untouched by the gore around him. He found shoes to be too restrictive, his magic almost feral when he was angry. While he was mulling over the thorn in his side that was Harry Potter his yew wand vibrated in his pocket. He withdrew it carefully, placing the Elder wand within instead. The extremely familiar rush was so calming, reassuring. It was still vibrating, and he enjoyed the sensation in the palm of his hand. Oh yes, he knew what that little detection charm meant. Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed. He vanished effortlessly, reappearing at Malfoy Manor, summoning Nagini to him to explain to his serpent what was to come. Yes, this wasn't the end of it all. Far from it._

* * *

Hermione felt sick to her stomach, the whirl at her navel a thousand times worse than she remembered. She wanted to be sick, but the sounds raging around her told her exactly where she was. It was the battle at Hogwarts, the Death Eaters and the Order engaged in a vicious fight around the Great Hall and corridors, while Harry and Voldemort were dueling at the center of it all, their wands flashing with a liquidity born of sheer desire and need. Hermione felt disoriented, looking at it from the opposite side of the room from where she had been, not even aware that Death Eaters were avoiding her as her fingers reflexively dropped the dagger, her wounded palm stinging from the portkey. Suddenly there was a flash of silver, minute but there, flying across the room and right into its target.

Hermione suddenly caught the gaze of her own self, crippled and shocked across the room, clutching her stomach as myriad cuts opened all over her, bloody lines appearing through her shirt as her magic fought against the spell before she vanished in a flash of blue light. Hermione's mind was trying to seam together the missing pieces, to figure out what had happened while her eyes were glued to the duel between Harry and Voldemort. Harry taunted Voldemort, their wands flying as they dueled. She actually perceived the shift in magic as her other self winked out, the original event she remembered playing in her mind in time with what was happening before her eyes.

Before she had time to process it, their wands locked as both threw spells simultaneously. The two spells thrown by Harry and Voldemort were intermingling, fighting for dominance as Hermione fought to regain control of her stomach. Voldemort_ changed his spell mid-cast_, the light of it shifting to yellow, causing a wall of magic to build in the center between himself and Harry as the Elder wand bent to his will, not yielding to Harry's. There was a fuzziness around Harry that grew, and suddenly she wasn't so sure it _was_ Harry.

"That isn't possible," Hermione whispered to herself, but it was. He was doing it. The spells broke off, and all of a sudden, for a split second, Hermione felt all of the Dark Lord's attention fixed on her. His eyes locked with hers with clear intent, and she gasped and stumbled backward. _Oh no. No, no, no._

Voldemort smiled.


	25. The World Seems Not the Same

**Good evening readers! So I haven't quite finished replying to reviews via PM. I'm trying. L'Archange & Lions Wings, thank you for the marvelously detailed reviews! I loved your comments! For the folks who are posting large anonymous reviews, please set up an account so I can PM with detailed replies if you want that. I don't want to artificially bump the word count with endless author notes, nor subject all readers to them. If you don't particularly want/need a response, then by all means continue to post them anonymously or as guests. Here's the next installment. Update: probably looking at 200k words or thereabouts, so plenty to go! Thanks so much, you are all wonderful!**

* * *

Hermione ran. She dodged dueling opponents, bursting clear from the castle into the cloudy day and heading for the Forbidden Forest, uncaring of the Dementors swooping about overhead and the shouts of Death Eaters pursuing her. The branches slapping against her were inconvenient, but the roots were the real problem, causing her to almost stumble several times as she dodged curses and zigzagged through the trees of the Forbidden Forest. Hermione threw curses and hexes with precision whenever she could, keeping her shields as strong as possible and hoping to get past the anti-apparition wards. The noise around Hogwarts was diminishing, but there were at least four Death Eaters in pursuit, maybe more. She didn't have time to think about why she was running away, she only knew she had to escape. There was no possibility that it would end well for her otherwise.

"_Ossio dispersimus_!" Hermione's curse hit a Death Eater's hand and he dropped his wand, and she wordlessly conjured _Spiritus caput_, a distraction but one that bought her more seconds. She had seen a flash of white, a mask nearby, and had to slow them down before they caught her.

"Stupefy!" The spell narrowly missed her left shoulder as she twisted past a beech, her ankle twisting painfully in the roots. She kept going. _I'm still alive, I'm still alive_, she thought to herself and zinged off another hex, halting a Death Eater behind her. They were flying now, a bad sign, the smoke causing her to wonder if the shadows were Death Eaters or simply her own nerves as she kept running.

Hermione was hoping to make it to the centaurs' stomping grounds. Magorian owed her a life debt, and her chances with them were better than with the Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort. They could engage them, hold them off. Her lungs were bursting, her wand flinging curses with precision as she heard them getting closer, then felt the ghost of a hand nearly grab her.

Finally she reached the darker part of the forest, where the trees were narrower. It was harder to run with her ankle, but she kept on, the Death Eaters falling back due to the close trees while she could slip through them. Hermione knew this part of the wood better than they, the noise of the battle for Hogwarts completely gone now and the silence aiding her and them.

"Miss Granger."

Severus Snape materialized from smoke before her and Hermione felt a cold rivulet of sweat roll down her spine. _He shouldn't be here_. Hermione was well and truly panicking now. He had been dead, attacked by Nagini! Her wand flashed as she engaged her former professor in a duel for her life.

"You should be _dead_," she said, her brain trying to make sense of the insensible. "I saw you die!"

"Clearly not," Professor Snape snapped, tossing her curses aside while trying to talk sense to her. Snape was obviously annoyed and it showed in the way he rebuffed her efforts, the curses hitting the ground with hisses and pops. "Stop this madness. You know we won't harm you."

"Enough of this!" Another voice joined with Snape's, and Hermione had a split second to realize she was outnumbered. The white flash from the black walnut wand was bright and on target, the hissed "_Petrificus totalus_" enough to render Hermione frozen. Severus Snape caught her easily with his wand before she could fall to the ground, keeping her upright as Lucius Malfoy walked into view, his mask puffing away with a flash as he looked at Hermione. The last thing she saw was the red stunner Snape fired at her, then she lapsed into blissful unconsciousness.

* * *

Consciousness returned to Hermione slowly, like the drip of hot water through coffee grounds. She heard rustling and quiet whispers, followed by the sensation of a cold draft of air passing over her arm. The darkness around her was disorienting. She was again suspended upright, her arms out at ninety degrees from her body with her hands bound on either side by invisible tethers. There were torches visible at the edges of her vision, but the shadows were clearly people, all in dark robes. She was close to the floor, her feet touching but not supporting her weight at all. She thought she could see another figure suspended to her right, but she couldn't turn her head, and her peripheral vision was limited in the darkened room. Her robes appeared to be intact, but she was still immobilized, facing a sea of masks, who all bowed or kneeled in unison as someone approached behind her, the whoosh of air the only indication that he drew near. Her breath began coming in shallow pants when that voice began speaking, just behind her right shoulder.

"My loyal servants, what a precious gift you have given to me this evening. And after such a successful battle today…" Lord Voldemort strode forward, the Elder wand held with careless ease. He brought his hand to his chest, saying, "If I had a heart, it would be touched!"

A low roll of laughter echoed through the room, and Hermione both wished and dreaded to see his face. He was still ignoring her for the moment, his attention fixed on the front row, his most loyal Death Eaters. "Lucius, Severus, rise and come!"

Hermione watched her captors rise from their bows and stride forward, while Lord Voldemort finally turned to look at her, cocking his head to the side with a curious expression on his face. He sidled closer to give her his full attention, moving until he was slightly in front of her. He turned her head toward his with his right hand, a gesture that those kneeling would interpret as one of dominance but which possessed far more meaning than any present knew.

"Hello, my dear. I've waited a very long time for this," he said softly, the muted red in his eyes gleaming as he met her fierce brown ones. His hand trailed down her neck and over her breast, then moved lower with surety as he moved behind her and wordlessly released the spell, causing her to collapse slightly onto her feet as he smoothly pulled her against his chest with his hand at her navel. She felt the pulse of magic from his hand, the victorious thrill that raced through him inciting panic in her brain as she realized her worst fear: the bond between them was, in fact, as strong as ever.

"Perfect," he whispered into her ear, the tone of his voice luscious and deadly all at once. Hermione felt nearly sick, the jumbled up pieces of her past and present sliding nonsensically in her brain and then coming up against the jarringly hard reality of Tom's touch, Lord Voldemort's touch. She had to try, had to try something…

"Tom…" her voice was a whisper, a shell of what it should be, but she felt the white hot whip of his magic as it flowed and melded with hers, silencing her more effectively than any spell; larger, darker, more powerful than anything before. He looked up at the startled but quickly disguised expressions of two of his top Death Eaters. When he spoke again, his voice rang out through the hall with satisfaction.

"Severus, Lucius, I offer you my gratitude for returning _my wife_ to my side. I am extremely pleased with both of you for so scrupulously following my orders that she not be harmed."

Hermione could not hold herself together any longer. She fainted in the Dark Lord's arms.

* * *

"Drink." The voice was firm and authoritative, a hand holding up her head so she could drink from the cup. She drank several swallows of the cool water before her consciousness kicked in and she shut her lips, her eyes opening suddenly to an intricately embroidered bed canopy.

"It's just water, Hermione. I have not gotten you back after fifty three years to simply kill you," Lord Voldemort said, his tone laced with irritation.

"I'm not drinking anything you give me," she hissed, trying to scoot back once before she found herself held quite firmly in place without so much as a word from her erstwhile husband, silken bonds holding her easily without so much as a wave of his hand.

"I think you'll find you will," Voldemort said slowly, "Or I'll take it out on your friends."

Hermione looked at the creature Tom Riddle had become. She had known it, had been trapped unwillingly with him, and instinctively ran from him when she was sent back to her own time. But this was so wrong—he had been killed at the final battle, she had seen it! Yet here she was. She refused to meet his eyes, looking past his left shoulder instead.

"It's no use," he said, grabbing her face in his hand, his long fingers holding her still as his red eyes bored into hers. "You can't hide anything from me, Hermione."

Hermione was extremely weak from the time travel, and thus her attempt to keep him out of her mind was ruthlessly overridden, aided by the matchless grace of the bond between them. His skill with Legilimency was now unparalleled, having been honed for fifty three years. Voldemort zeroed in on her memories, picking a particular one that would answer a question.

_Hermione and Ron raced into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, heading straight for the serpent tap that marked the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Ron's attempts at Parseltongue were crude, but on the third try he got the syllables close enough to cause the chamber to open. They ran as fast as possible toward the skeleton of the basilisk, where Ron wrenched a fang from the mouth and Hermione placed the cup on the ground._

_"Are you ready?" Ron asked, and Hermione gripped the fang tightly, then nodded._

_A black spectral form of the teenage Tom Riddle rose from the cup as she approached. He spoke, so charmingly, of all the things he could give her. As she raised the fang to strike, his tone changed, his mouth now spewing vile threats, the last of which was:_

_"I will know of this, Hermione Granger, and I will return."_

_Hermione brought the fang down decisively, causing the teenage boy to disappear with a shriek as the cup oozed black goo and split in half._

_"That's done then," Hermione said with a far greater degree of nonchalance than her racing heart would attest._

Hermione felt Voldemort leave her memories abruptly, although she vaguely noted the lack of pain as he did so.

"It's the bond," he said, his voice a low hiss. "Even then you still kept things from me. Do you realize how bloody aggravating you are?"

Despite the bonds on her wrists and legs, Hermione felt her anger rise at that.

"I didn't ask you to do this! I didn't ask to be bound to you! You chose all of it!"

He smirked, twirling his wand lazily in his fingers as he sat back and watched her, like a cobra mesmerizing its victim. "Yes, I did. You'll imagine my surprise when the memories arrived of my youthful self's activities, laid out so starkly next to how things played out originally. I confess, I had no idea I would choose that specific path when I sent you back, but given the outcome I've decided to forgive you your impertinence."

"How gracious of you," Hermione said bitterly, and Voldemort fixed her with a cold stare, his eyes smoldering, his wand pointed easily at her.

"Be careful, witch. You may be my wife, but that does not give you the right to sass me."

"It gives me exactly that right!" Hermione retorted. "And you like that, because I don't behave like a toadying sycophant."

Voldemort let the tip of his wand drop, and then he surprised Hermione by letting out a full blown laugh. He smirked and crawled slowly over her prone body on the bed, his slit-like nostrils flaring as he smelled her, then briefly kissed her jaw. Hermione noticed how cool his flesh was, that odd flash and heat even more markedly different whenever his skin brushed over the small amount of her own that was exposed. It was strangely reassuring; a reminder that she knew him far better than this role, this mask he had assumed for himself.

"What outcome exactly has you so pleased?" Hermione dared to ask, that little frisson of remembrance enough to temporarily overcome the fear that the state of him would ordinarily engender.

"Such bravery mixed with forthright honesty…I had forgotten how amusing you are," Voldemort mused as he gazed down at her and ignored her query, supporting himself easily on his forearms. It gave Hermione a chance to study him up close. His skin was much more translucent, but his bone structure was remarkably similar, the same high cheekbones…his lips were a bit fuller, in contrast to the utter absence of his nose.

"What are you doing?" he demanded to know, in that arrogant manner he had possessed even as a teenager.

"I'm looking at you," Hermione replied, being honest even if she was terrified of him. "Your face is similar, except for the nose, of course."

A corner of his mouth twitched, in a manner that could indicate he was amused, or getting annoyed. "Of course, you knew what I would look like, didn't you? A helpful little tidbit I never managed to pry out of you. What does that say about your willing participation in our little bonding rite, I wonder? But none of them know what I looked like before—what do you think, Hermione? And don't try to lie, because I'll know if you do," he murmured darkly, his eyes raking over her face.

"If you let me, I'll show you what I see," Hermione said, faking a calm she didn't quite feel as she gestured with her fingertips, the silk pulling against her wrists before it shredded into thin air at his acquiescence. Voldemort could probably tell that she was nervous—her heart was hammering at an increased rate, but she was determined to begin as she meant to carry on, if she was stuck here until she could find a way to escape him.

"Your brow is more pronounced, here—"Hermione ran her fingertips lightly over where his left eyebrow should be, "And your cheekbones are still high, angular…perhaps a tad more pronounced…" She felt a bit emboldened that he was letting her touch his face, and brought her other hand up, letting both hands trail gently along his jawline, deliberately avoiding his mouth. "And your jaw is the same—strong lines, same broad chin, no cleft…at least you won't cut yourself shaving nowadays, I suppose?"

A glint of amusement flickered in his eyes, but was gone again quickly. "Go ahead, if you dare," he hissed softly, aware that she had purposely skipped his nose.

Her fingertips gently drifted upward, past his nostrils to where his nose should have been. "It's like you're missing all the cartilage…" she said quietly, fingering the top of the ethmoid bone.

"You're already trying to think of a potion, aren't you?" Voldemort scowled, floating off of her and to his feet, his wand flicking into his hand. "Enough show and tell. It's time for you to learn what I expect of you."

Hermione sat up in the bed and kept her attention on him. Her wand was nowhere in sight, but from the size and furnishings of the room, there was no doubt that this was his room. He was studying her in that calculating manner he had, then he lazily waved his wand and the bonds on her ankles disappeared.

"Thank you," she said, rubbing them slightly before she made to swing them off the bed. Voldemort almost paused mid-stride. That was another thing he had forgotten, her damnable manners in spite of any treatment she received from him. He ignored the brief flash of…_something_ that caused.

"Stay there, unless you want Nagini's attention," Voldemort said, and Hermione heard the large serpent slithering forward from beneath the bed. She had to work to control her response, but control it she did, tucking her legs underneath her with the appearance of nonchalance even as her mind sustained another blow, another domino that hadn't fallen during the battle. She was tired and hungry, but clearly Voldemort was not done teasing her yet. She hoped that was all he was doing.

His lips moved and again she heard the sibilant hiss of Parseltongue as Voldemort commanded his familiar. The huge snake raised itself up to look at her once, flicking its tongue idly in her direction before it sank back down, hissing back to Lord Voldemort in a manner that indicated they were carrying on some type of conversation.

_"She smells like you. I remember her."_

_"She is gravid with my young. Protect her until I tell you otherwise."_

_"Yes, Master."_

The python slithered off into a dark corner. Hermione had no idea if the snake had actually left the room or was just invisible to her eyes, but she made a mental note to stay away from that corner.

"Now, as I was saying: you will obey me, period. If I tell you to stay in this room, you will. If I permit you to have your wand, you will not use it except in self-defense, unless it is me—in which case, I expect you to receive your punishment with dignity. You will treat my Death Eaters with respect, as they will you. If I ask you to perform a task, you will do it with speed and thoroughness. If I choose to instruct you in a spell, you _will_ become proficient in it. Am I understood?"

Hermione snorted, and he cocked his head. "Were you under the mistaken impression that I have not learned from the past fifty years during your absence from my side? Or did you honestly think it was a mistake that you made it back to my time in the first place?"

"You must remember that I don't respond to your orders very well," she said bravely. His eyes gleamed as he almost glided over and grasped her chin firmly in his hand, his long fingernails touching her skin. Hermione could see the thoughts flickering through his countenance, and shivered from the awareness that she could still read him in a way, and that she knew him well enough to do so.

"So young. So defiant. I remember _that_ about you. But I am five decades ahead of you, young witch. You have much to learn still. I will teach you, or I will break you."

"Because you had so much luck breaking me before," she replied. He tightened his hold on her chin.

"Do not make the mistake of assuming I am the boy you knew. If all I wanted was to break you, you would not be here," he said softly. Somehow the quietness of the statement made it more menacing.

"I know full well that you are different," Hermione whispered back. "I do not see the benefit for you. What purpose does it serve to keep me? I can only conclude that you have not assured your victory, and hope that my capture will undermine your opposition."

His eyes gleamed with interest. "Assigning me only one motive? You disappoint me."

"I merely state the obvious motive. I have no doubt that you have several others, which you will play to maximum effect when you deem the time is right."

"You see, you do learn. Imagine what sorts of things I have to show you now," he said, a brief spark of magic dancing between them.

"You have never lacked talent or drive," Hermione admitted, and she knew it made him preen a bit, "but you have always lacked empathy or even the desire to understand other points of view." She silently added, _and it ultimately stunts you_, but she knew better than to say it to him.

His eyes narrowed at that. "I will refrain from using the Cruciatus on you because of my offspring within your body, but there are many other ways of disciplining a wayward wife. This is your one and only warning on the subject."

He released her suddenly and walked away, taking a sip from a goblet on the table by the fire. Hermione felt the absence of his hand as the contact was broken, and wondered at how he perceived the same sensations. His body was so changed from the multiple Horcruxes, the many transfigurations and potions he must have taken or used to doggedly cling to life and reassert his right to it. Thus it took a few seconds for her to process what he had just said, gasping as it hit her.

"What?"

His mouth twisted cruelly into a semblance of a smile, mocking her. "Did you think that potion was for your comfort? It was quite a powerful fertility potion, just in case the vernal equinox bonding failed in that respect."

"I…" Hermione began, but some innate sense of self-preservation warned her when his eyes flashed dangerously and his grip on his wand changed slightly. Hermione noticed it was his yew wand that he wielded with her, not the Elder wand. This was _not_ a youthful Tom Riddle, but a battle hardened Lord Voldemort. She knew things had changed, but she had no idea how much. She instantly grasped there must be a _reason_ he wanted a child, but now was not the time to ask. She changed the subject instead.

"How much have you changed? I remember the original timeline, not this."

Her throat was suddenly parched again, and she wished she had not pushed away the water, her voice sounding a bit hoarse. He smirked, and she realized he knew she would be thirsty. His head was still cocked to the side, and an amused glint gave his eyes an unnatural fire.

"It is unpleasant not knowing large parts of your life, is it not, Hermione? Of course, I might enlighten you, in much the same way you enlightened me. However, just so you are aware—you and I are the only ones who remember your original timeline."

"The object of the spell and its caster," Hermione whispered. She wouldn't remember any of the new timeline yet, and Voldemort knew it. He had drawn closer in that floating walk of his, and the cold satisfaction of his tone told her exactly what he intended. He would draw it out, tease her with information, and revel in her ignorance of the true state of affairs. And without the ability to contact her friends, she would have no way of knowing whether or not he was telling her the truth. He could read the realizations easily in her eyes, not even needing Legilimency to see her thoughts.

"But time will work to resolve the paradox. Eventually I will receive all of the altered memories," Hermione said quickly, and he flicked his wand once, her clothing changing from her muddy robes into a warm pajama.

"So intelligent, my wife," he complimented her softly, drawing her to him using his magic alone, until she was caught to him at her waist, his hand easily sliding beneath the flannel encompassing her hip. "You have nineteen years of memories to catch up on. How long will it take you?"

He played with her a bit, letting a bit of his magic run along his skin to play with hers, entice it. Hermione's magic was responding to his, and she cursed the bond he had placed between them. Her fingers unconsciously curled up, her thumb rubbing the scar on the inside of her ring finger and palm. He caught her chin again with his hand and lifted her face up to look at him, his eyebrows raised. "I think we both know, Hermione, that you are out of options…and your magic agrees with me."

"I hate you," she whispered fiercely, her eyes flashing hot and her jaw clenching. They both knew it was a lie, however. Her magic was entwining itself with his own, the combination sparking in that way that had spelled disaster and good fortune for each of them. Lord Voldemort let it linger, the seconds of their magic mixing a more potent reminder of the bond they had forged than any scalding words. It made a mockery of Hermione's anger, and they both knew it.

"Of course you do," he said, a hard glint in his eyes. "Now, be a good _pet_ and go to bed. I'll send a house elf with some dinner."

With a flick of his wand he sent her flying across the room, a small shriek escaping her lips. He was through the door before she landed with a soft 'Oomph' on the bed.


	26. Near to You

**Good evening. Very late but wanted to post this, as it will answer some questions from some reviews. Lion's Wing, LOVED your review. Ah, so MANY great reviews-juliaa, Relent1ess, TheNewCompanion, ah, so many of you! I will try to reply to reviews tomorrow. Basically you will ALL find something in this chapter. More to come later in the work week perhaps, although it's work. Thank you all, you are brilliant readers & reviewers! A big shout out to all who have favorited or followed this week too! Enjoy!**

* * *

"Harry, you have to get out of here."

Luna Lovegood's ethereal voice pierced his consciousness at last, causing Harry to turn from the scene of devastation before him.

"We can't give this up," he said fiercely, his hands gripping the stone rail of the cloister around the courtyard. The Weasleys were making arrangements to take Fred's body away, Slughorn and Flitwick had organized teams to comb the grounds for the injured, and Madame Pomfrey was hard pressed to treat the injuries that were already presenting in the infirmary.

"Harry. It won't be long before they come back. You must go."

"Right," Harry said. He had been so certain that Voldemort would fall today. He still wasn't sure what happened during the duel—he only knew that Voldemort had managed to break it off, vanishing as quickly as his Death Eaters, a satisfied expression on his face. Harry knew that could not be a good thing, but thus far they had not seen anything indicating some decisive event. "Does Professor McGonagall have a list of the missing yet?"

"No, Harry."

The voice was different, kinder. Harry turned to look at Ginny, her face etched with sorrow but also the stubborn resilience that was such a part of her. "Dad wants to talk to you. McGonagall has found something odd."

Harry nodded briefly to Luna, pressing his hand to her shoulder momentarily on his way past with Ginny. Professor Sprout was taking care of the burials with help from Kingsley Shacklebolt. She had chosen the Whomping Willow, as it would be difficult for the graves to be disturbed. He idly took in the sight of Sprout carefully lowering someone into a grave. The wind ruffled the sheet and he realized it was Parvati Patil.

"Harry." It was a gentle reminder, and Harry realized that he had stopped. He slammed his fist down on the stone, welcoming the different pain. He pushed it aside and began walking purposefully again, reaching Professor McGonagall, Remus Lupin, and Arthur Weasley in the front hall.

"Harry, Minerva has found that all of the portraits have been frozen," Remus said without preamble. He looked exhausted, streaks of dirt and blood across his face.

"Nothing I have tried will release the spell," Minerva McGonagall added. She hardly looked any better herself, but she was still clinging to the dignity that was as much a part of her person as a Weasley's red hair.

"I spoke to Dumbledore, you know," Harry said. "Before…all of this. Before I went to the forest. It must have been done since then."

"I don't know if there are any other portraits of him," Minerva said.

"It would be very helpful if you could tell us what happened, Harry, but that can wait until we get everyone to safety. St. Mungo's is out, and we will be hard pressed to find safe houses for all present, not to mention a place large enough to allow Poppy to care for those who will require continued treatment." Arthur Weasley said.

"So we couldn't reinstate the wards?" Harry asked, even though he knew it was not possible.

"I'm sorry, Harry. Everything is too higgledy piggledy to attempt it, and I don't think it would be wise. We would just be making things easier for him the next time."

Professors Flitwick and Slughorn, who had arrived mid-conversation but said nothing, now piped up.

"I recommend Northumbria. There are caves there which would suffice as shelter for those who are able bodied while we seek more adequate arrangements," said Filius Flitwick. His glasses were askew but he looked ready to go another few rounds, every inch the dueling champion.

"There is an abandoned Muggle sanitorium in Reading that would suffice as a hospital. Muggles avoid it like the plague due to certain unpleasantries, and we could protect it until the number of patients dwindles sufficiently to rehouse them elsewhere," Professor Slughorn offered, his voice tired.

"Thank you, Professors," Harry said, and Professor Slughorn nodded sadly.

"What about the missing?" Minerva asked, beating Harry to it.

"Luna is putting together a list with young Mr. Thomas," Remus said, then hesitated. "Harry, I'm sorry, but Hermione and Neville appear to be missing."

"Right," Harry said, his heart clenching painfully. "So two of the bravest and smartest people I've ever known are missing, and possibly dead, but _he_ makes it through practically unscathed."

All of their eyes darted to Draco Malfoy, who was sitting on the staircase, looking no worse for the wear other than being a little tired. Oddly, Tonks was sitting next to him and talking to him in low tones.

"Best to consider moving along," Arthur said. "Draco can come along with my family."

"No," Harry said. "I want him where I can keep an eye on him. And I've got a few questions for him about the family homestead."

Arthur exchanged a look with the other adults, but nothing more was said on the matter. Wherever Harry hid now, he would not be alone. They would keep an eye on how Harry responded to Draco.

It took quite a bit of arranging, but eventually portkeys started being created and people began vanishing to the cold sanctuary of Northumbria or houses that were known to still be safe under the Fidelius charm. Professor Slughorn went to the temporary hospital, making several trips to pack an increasing number of potions ingredients from the storeroom. He tasked the remaining house elves with moving the rest to an unplottable part of the dungeon. Only someone who knew precisely what to ask for would be able to get the house elves to retrieve them.

When Death Eaters were spotted in the Forbidden Forest by the centaurs, it was time to cut their losses, the portraits still frozen in their frames on the walls of the strangely empty castle. As the last of the Order portkeyed away, no one heard a lone portrait shouting in the greenhouses.

* * *

"My lord." Lucius kneeled and bowed, his arm across his chest respectfully. He had repaired some of the damage to his position with the capture last week, but he was not yet entirely back in the Dark Lord's good graces with Draco missing. After the Dark Lord's revelation, the Death Eaters as a whole were fascinated, repulsed, and morbidly curious about how Lord Voldemort came to be _married_ to the most famous mudblood of the day. Lucius hoped he would be able to discover something during this meeting, but it was always a dicey proposition to try to wheedle information out of the Dark Lord.

"Lucius, so pleased you could join us," Lord Voldemort replied, as if Lucius had any choice in the matter. However, the Dark Lord was always one for observing the formalities of courtesy unless he was seriously pissed off.

Bellatrix sniffed at him as he took his seat at the table. Yaxley, MacNair, Dolohov—all were already there, sitting stiffly as they waited for the meeting. After Lucius was seated, Severus Snape came in, performing the necessary nod of obeisance before taking his own seat at the table. You could always tell who was in the Dark Lord's favor by how much groveling they performed before taking their seat. It was more telling who was _not_ present: Rodolphus, the Carrows, Gibbon, as well as Draco. Lucius would have been beside himself if Narcissa hadn't assured him she had seen Draco alive during the duel—she had just been unable to get to him before they were all ordered out.

"Good morning, my faithful servants," Lord Voldemort began pleasantly. He folded his hands together on the table, then, after a brief pause, fixed his attention on Yaxley.

"Yaxley. Please bring me up to date on the actions of Thicknesse and the reorganization of Ministry departments to those more amenable to our agenda."

And so the meeting proceeded as such a meeting normally would, with everyone present wondering about the mudblood girl who was presumably still alive somewhere in the Manor, and their lord who had specifically requested her, and married her. An hour and a half later, Voldemort seemed satisfied enough with the progress in the Ministry, as well as the clean up from the aftermath of the battle for Hogwarts.

"Severus, I expect the school to be fully secured by this evening. Please tell me if the foundational wards are damaged. I can repair them if necessary."

"Of course, my lord. As soon as the rest of the debris is cleared, I will be able to ascertain the state of them."

Lord Voldemort nodded and swept his gaze over the assembled Death Eaters. "Is there anything else of which I should be made aware?"

These were the types of questions which they all hated. It was perfectly clear to all present what the Dark Lord was referring to, but it was impossible to tell whether he would cruciate the person who dared to ask, or celebrate their truthfulness for telling him what everyone else was saying. Lucius was considering that he perhaps should speak, when Bellatrix cleared her throat and said what they were all thinking.

"Well, my lord, there are quite a few individuals who are wondering how you came to be married to that mudblood girl." Bellatrix's tone was only a tiny bit whiny, which, for her, represented a remarkable amount of self-control.

You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that descended on the room. Lord Voldemort's wand was in his hand so quickly that none of them observed him doing it, and he stood to circle behind Bellatrix's chair. Lucius tensed, but this was not a clear indication of punishment…yet. It merely meant that the Dark Lord had been waiting for it, like a lion waiting for its prey at the watering hole.

"So you've all been wondering about my marital state, have you? I have to wonder if you would appreciate the same level of _scrutiny_ in your own personal lives—" his wand flashed toward the unsuspecting MacNair, who crumpled from his chair from the painful entry of the Dark Lord into his mind.

"Or perhaps you, Dolohov?" His wand hopped and Dolohov stiffened in his seat, his fingernails literally gouging the wood in his attempt to stay in his seat under the force of Lord Voldemort's Legilimency.

"No?" he flicked his wand away and turned his hard gaze on them. "Everything which I do has a purpose. Miss Granger, as was, represents a very useful acquisition. All of you know better than to question me."

To demonstrate, he pulled Bellatrix from her chair with his Cruciatus, causing the witch to bite her lip, a bloody foam forming before he ended the curse, leaving her panting on the floor.

"Do not disrespect me or my wife again. I expect you know what this means for those not privileged enough to be personally tutored by my wand."

Lord Voldemort's voice was dangerously dark, and each of them knew exactly what he meant—any lesser Death Eater daring to bring it up would die. _That_ word would certainly spread like wildfire, which is probably precisely what the Dark Lord intended, Lucius thought to himself.

Nagini, who had slithered into the room while Lord Voldemort was talking, began hissing at him in Parseltongue.

_She is awake, and refusing to eat._

_I will be right there to educate her, _Lord Voldemort hissed back, and the snake slithered among the feet of the Death Eaters, a threatening gesture that they all interpreted correctly.

A flick of his wand saw Bellatrix and MacNair forcefully deposited back in their chairs.

"I trust I have made myself clear?"

They all nodded.

"I shall take great delight in informing you of how this is another nail in the coffin of the Order at another time. At present, my wife requires _instruction_."

Without another word, Lord Voldemort turned and left the room. Lucius' eyes flicked to meet Severus' briefly, a silent agreement that they needed to discuss this. More could be said where it was safe to do so.

* * *

"What is the meaning of this?"

Hermione stopped struggling with the tiny house elf who had been attempting to force soup into her, the pale creature surprisingly strong for her size.

"I is trying to feeds her Master but she won't eat!" the elf cried, tears threatening in her eyes.

"Leave," Voldemort ordered, the elf blinking away without hesitation. "I can see that you are determined to make your adjustment here as difficult as possible."

"You've left me incarcerated here for days on end," Hermione retorted. "If your aim is to kill me from boredom, you are succeeding."

Lord Voldemort smirked as he drew closer. Hermione backed up into the couch, then there was no room to negotiate away from him. "So what you're saying is that you would prefer my company to none?"

Hermione stood silent, and he cocked his head. "You are fretting because you are not receiving your memories as quickly as you would like."

Hermione turned away. She hated that it was entirely his playing field. Her mind still felt fuzzy, incomplete. "What would you know of it?" she asked in a low voice.

There was a spark that seared her when he grasped her hand and smoothly ran his other hand up to her shoulder, beneath her robe. "You haven't been allowed to use your magic, and you haven't allowed yourself this," he remarked, his eyes flicking upward to meet her own. "I would have felt it if you had sought me out. You are not only incomplete, you are stifled."

"Give me back my wand then," Hermione said doggedly. He continued to stroke her arm, aware of just how the frissons of pleasure were disconcerting her.

"Perhaps I might consider it, at times…if you admit you want to be in my company," he said smoothly.

"Relying on Stockholm Syndrome a bit too much, aren't you?" Hermione snapped, and his hold tightened on her arm.

"Would you prefer to be left alone? Or are you going to stop behaving like a petulant child and work toward the things you desire?"

Hermione closed her eyes briefly, focusing herself. Voldemort felt the familiar upswell of her magic as it began to seek out his own. He had a brief warning when it changed in flavor, for lack of a better description, as Hermione threw an incredibly focused amount of _Heka_ at him. He was able to deflect some of it, leaving a smoldering hole in the carpet, and absorbed the rest with a bit of effort. He released her hand and grabbed her waist instead, pulling her flush against him where she struggled ineffectively for a few seconds before ceasing, her breathing hard as she stared past his ear, refusing to meet his eyes.

"There's my hellcat," Voldemort purred into her ear, leaning down to do so and causing his breath to feather against her neck. "I had wondered at your calm acquiescence with the terms of your position, but I see you _have_ been practicing. That was quite good. Shall I give you an equal taste, my sweet?"

Hermione could feel his magic building to answer hers, a far darker upswell with sharp edges and precision that had not been there when he had played with her before.

"Why ask if you're going to do it anyway?" she said, and he smiled at that.

"Fair point, pet." Hermione could feel it the second he turned it loose on her, the sensation akin to a thousand small cuts across her magical consciousness, followed by the sharp sting as he shredded her control of her own magic. It was more than uncomfortable, but not quite pain.

"I did warn you, didn't I?" he said quietly into her ear, his warm breath eliciting a shiver in response. "I will not tolerate this pretense that your life is not now, and forever will be, substantially different. I chose you as my _mate_. You will accept it."

The word was hissed in Parseltongue, a word that somehow sounded almost pleasant. Hermione dared to look at him even as her magic continued to wrestle with his. She was losing, but the fight itself mattered.

"What does that even mean? You cannot demand my acceptance in one breath and treat me as a child the next."

Voldemort knew she was wavering, both physically and mentally, but she was still being recalcitrant. He mentally set back his plans for a few days accordingly—he knew this was an important battle to win with his strong willed wife.

"Have it your way."

His voice was so maddeningly calm, almost…patient? Hermione's control of her magic, which had been evaporating steadily under his attack, finally slipped entirely, and everything breakable in the room exploded in a cacophony, all the candles guttering out as her energy spent itself wildly. She was exhausted instantly, and her head dropped to his chest as she began to cry. Lord Voldemort simply let her cry herself out, neither comforting her nor retreating from her. When her crying had subsided to small hiccoughs in the dark, he relit every candle in the room with a wave of his hand, then cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair again. "Look at me."

Hermione was confused by his response. On the one hand, he had ruthlessly stripped her magical energy. On the other, he let her cry on his chest and waited for her to finish. She said exactly what she thought: "I don't understand you."

"And you still wish to understand me, don't you? Despite everything you think you know, you still seek to know me," he observed, his fingers soft as they untangled themselves from her hair. "_Mate_ does not translate well, and can mean many things. For now, know that our bond holds for me as well—I cannot harm you, or seek to do you harm by the hand of others."

"You have to protect me." Hermione remembered that term from the vows, the flash of fire in his eyes when he'd agreed to it.

"Yes. Including from yourself." He swept her off her feet and put her on the bed, leaning over her briefly. "Promise me that at no time will you do anything that will endanger our child."

"I cannot be very far along. It's possible that I could miscarry through no fault of my own," Hermione said, her heart pounding loudly. She really could not imagine being a mother yet, and if he was so fixed on having this child, it would probably serve the wizarding world at large if she did _not_ have it. However, Hermione had done some thinking on the subject, and found she could not think about it in such a dispassionate light. It was her body and her child as well, and she knew nothing of what had occurred in this version of the future. It seemed foolish to contemplate such a drastic choice without all of the facts.

"That is a slim possibility, I will grant you. However, I have done everything possible to ensure that will not be the case," he said. "And since your health is tied to that of our child, you will eat."

It was a statement, not a question. Hermione acknowledged to herself that although it rankled, he was correct. Besides, the purpose of her refusal had been served—he had finally come to her himself. She had been almost going mad, seeing only that tiny house elf with no means of passing the time or even counting it properly.

"Yes."

Satisfied, he flicked the tray over with his wand and watched her take the first sip, then turned his attention to repairing all the items which she had broken in her loss of control. It was easily done, and he sat back in the armchair by the bed and regarded her as she ate. Still too thin, that overactive mind whirring, trying to parse his motives and determine her own response yet again. It was a wearisome game that he hoped would be unnecessary soon.

Hermione studied him as he repaired the room. He seemed tired, and as if he had many things on his mind. When he sat back down, it almost seemed that he wanted only to look at her. She wondered if he had any human feeling left. Everyone on the side of the Order believed that not to be the case, but here with him, she didn't know that she would say that. It seemed that he had buried it so deeply that few, if any, ever saw it—but as she stole another glance at him while she ate the last bite of her dinner, she was certain she couldn't say that any longer, because it wasn't true.

"I do desire your company," Hermione admitted as she pushed the tray away. Hadn't she decided that absolute honesty was the safest path with him? She sighed and turned her head to look at him. "I feel like hell."

"Deservedly so; but believe me, you know little of hell." It was a rebuke, but a mild one. She could tell he was pleased by her admission, even curious. She was pleased in turn when he asked about it. "Why have you decided you desire my company?"

"You cannot expect me to yield so readily to your curiosity," she replied, the air humming with a curious tension.

"Indeed not."

His eyes glowing like dark rubies hung beneath her eyelids as they drifted closed and she fell asleep. She may have murmured, "I miss your brown eyes," as Orpheus claimed her.

* * *

"Hermione!"

"Harry!"

Hermione screamed and struggled, sitting up straight in bed, her chest heaving. Reality slowly returned, and she registered a few things in rapid succession. One, the person who had called her name had not been Harry. Two, she wasn't in Bathilda Bagshot's home, confronting a very angry Nagini. Three, Voldemort was sleeping in the bed with her. Well, he had been, until she had woken him up with her nightmare. The warm weight on her lap was his arm.

"You were dreaming one of your memories," he said, his eyes glittering in the very dim light that suffused the room at his thought.

Hermione had suspected that he had been sleeping in the same bed, but every morning that she had awoken since arriving a week ago, she had been alone and the bed had been cold. Since he came to bed after she fell asleep, she only had the vague notion that he was sleeping there, too, but had no proof until now. The conscious knowledge of it made her uncomfortable and extremely aware of him.

"Yes," she said, her breath still irregular.

"Which one?" he asked, and Hermione had a decision to make. He was the only one who knew the events of both timelines, and this memory was frightening by its very stark difference from her original experience. It really wasn't a decision at all—he could probably use Legilimency easily on her now, given the amount of time he'd had to practice and hone that skill.

"At Bathilda Bagshot's house. I was bitten by Nagini," she said hoarsely.

"And that is when you woke up?" Voldemort asked, his voice laced with nuances that Hermione wanted to ignore, but could not.

"Originally it was Harry who was bitten, but this happened sooner. Was he bitten? Did he survive?" she asked, turning at the waist to face him. "Please. Tell me."

Voldemort looked at her thoughtfully. "I remember that. I was highly displeased with Nagini. She was not supposed to bite you that night, but snakes will be snakes."

"I don't remember what happened after that," Hermione said, and turned her face away from him. Voldemort noticed, of course, but simply watched her.

"Would it bother you so much to see the Boy Who Lived dead? I would think that recent events should have given you a very healthy dislike for prophecies."

"Stop taunting me!" Hermione said, looking at the unfeeling monster that she was married to. "Harry has been my best friend for seven years, of course I would be devastated if he were dead!"

Voldemort looked bored with her vehemence. "Well, he's not dead, despite multiple attempts on my part." The look of relief that flooded her face at this irritated him enough that he continued to goad her. "He is disgustingly adept at evading Death's sting. Killing him is a privilege I reserve for myself alone. Now go back to sleep."

Hermione flinched when he said that, and tried to get out of the bed. However, Voldemort's arm was unyielding, and she felt the added pull of a sticking charm unexpectedly keeping her adhered to the bed.

"Desist, wife. Go back to sleep."

"I don't want to sleep in the same bed as the man who just said he wanted to kill my best friend!" she hissed. Voldemort mentally sighed. This is why he'd avoided coming to bed when she was awake.

"Enough!"

Hermione heard the bedcurtains snap closed, but more than that she felt Voldemort's magical aura utterly envelope her, restraining her and gentling her far more effectively than a sticking charm and his arm. He leaned over her and captured her face in his hand, holding it gently but firmly.

"No more of this. You are still woefully ignorant of the current state of affairs. You are my wife, therefore you will sleep in my bed, regardless of your feelings on the subject. My intentions regarding Harry Potter, the Order of the Phoenix, Hogwarts, or any of the other individuals or organizations that interest you will remain a mystery as long as your proper past remains unknown to you."

Hermione felt short of breath again. It had nothing to do with the way he was leaning over her, and everything to do with the way her magic was falling over itself to entwine with his. It was disgustingly familiar, and Hermione wriggled uselessly to try to dislodge him. Finally she ceased, acknowledging the futility of the effort.

"Stop fighting it," Voldemort whispered. Hermione was unquestionably brave, but she had to get past what had gone before in this time. Until she was more up to date, she would remain skittish unless he showed a firm but patient hand. No one else would receive such patience from him. "You know this bond is unbreakable. Let it be, and accept that your magic is meant to be with mine."

"It's so much…more," Hermione finally whispered back. Her cheeks burned, perhaps because she felt ashamed for feeling that connection to him, for feeling comfortable sleeping beside him in his bed. She noticed that he only wore an old fashioned night robe of some kind, and wondered briefly if that were some kind of concession to her presence before thinking that he would no more make allowances for her than he would for anyone. He always did what suited himself.

"I have matured, as well as push my magic to extremes," Voldemort said. "You must do the same. I will not accept complacency from you—you must push yourself, so that your magic will grow. Then you will be better matched to me once again. Your pregnancy will help speed that process along."

He was still nearly suffocating her with his magic. Hermione realized that he was waiting for her to accept it.

Hermione was still partly caught in the fear from her nightmare, her heart still beating fast, her adrenaline levels up. Voldemort was able to slip into her mind so easily she knew he could see whatever he wanted. He watched her reactions to Nagini in the memory, then pulled out again as painlessly as he had entered. Hermione saw more flickers in his eyes, but he shared only one of his thoughts.

"You still drop your wand slightly with slicing hexes. You'll learn not to do that, starting soon. Perhaps tomorrow, if you've recovered sufficiently from your outburst earlier."

"You're going to train me?" Hermione was so surprised by that that she forgot to fight the instinctive draw of his magic, and instantly felt the calming and smoothing effect of their magics mixing and blending together. Lord Voldemort drew her hand against his chest as their magics mated again, his smooth, pale skin oddly warm, his heart beating beneath her hand. He finally let her go, satisfied now that she wasn't struggling against it, simply allowing it to exist. Hermione felt a flood of heat, making her almost physically hot from the rush of his magic as it melded with her own. She could feel his satisfaction, and she realized that she felt far more content than she wished to admit.

"I've already begun training you. But yes, I am going to continue. Now, go to sleep."

It wasn't a suggestion this time. Hermione felt herself be pulled under, a wordless sleeping spell. Satisfied by her even breathing, Voldemort returned to sleep.

* * *

"Get up lazybones."

The voice infiltrated her brain as easily as the magic that hummed and suffused the air, rousing Hermione to consciousness and awareness of the powerful wizard who was studying her. He was lounging lazily in the chair next to their bed, his posture negligently relaxed. She had seen many people disarmed by that apparently lazy posture in the past when he was younger. It was striking that beneath it all, he was still the same person at his core in some ways, and horribly twisted in others. Or was he? Hermione wasn't sure any more. She felt as if she were on that same tightrope, not knowing how he was going to respond to her. And yet…last night he had been almost tender with her.

"What do you want?" she asked bluntly, a hair tie flying to her hand from the nightstand so she could tie back her hair until she had time to see to her morning ablutions.

"Get dressed. I'm taking you to the practice room."

Hermione did jump out of the bed at that. Finally she would be allowed to leave this room! She knew he was smirking at her, but she didn't care. She was curious to see what other parts of the dwelling he would let her see. It was impossible to tell whether they were at Malfoy Manor, or elsewhere. She hoped to get some sort of clue by being allowed to leave the room that had become her prison.

"Oh now, it's hardly a prison, pet. You could have asked to leave it at any time in the past week."

"You're insufferable," Hermione said, going to the armoire to retrieve robes. She turned and found he was still watching her with his sharp eyed gaze, and she felt suddenly shy. "I'll…be right back," she blurted out, rushing to the bathroom. Inside she let her head drop to the door. _He couldn't really want that, could he? It had only been to get her pregnant—_Hermione cut herself off. She couldn't think about that. It was bad enough trying to figure out what he really wanted from her.

When she exited the bathroom he was carrying on another conversation with Nagini, who then slithered over her feet as she passed by. She refrained from cringing, but only just, and when she darted a look at Lord Voldemort it was clear he was amused.

"Shall we?"

Hermione exited the room behind him, letting her curious eyes take in the furnishings and as much of the layout of the dwelling as possible. They passed Narcissa Malfoy in the hall, who inclined her head with a soft, "My lord," as they passed. Her blue eyes locked with Hermione's briefly before she broke eye contact, continuing on her way.

"So we _are_ in Malfoy Manor," Hermione said, and Voldemort turned his head briefly to reply.

"For now."

With that cryptic statement, he opened a set of double doors into a very large paneled room. Perhaps it had been a ballroom at one time, the large crystal chandeliers an opulent reminder of a more docile purpose.

"I will need my wand," Hermione said pointedly, looking at the Elder wand as it lay, quiescent, in the crook of his arm as he studied her.

"I am aware," Lord Voldemort replied, then drew forth his yew wand from his robes, flipping it to offer it to her. "Do you dare?"

He waited. He had her wand, and she knew it. He wanted her completely divorced from what she had lived before, and this was another tool to force that change. The question was whether she would choose that for herself, or retreat to the past.

"I know you wouldn't offer if you didn't think me capable," Hermione said with more ease than she felt.

His wand was formidable, with sharp points and a history steeped in dark deeds. She did not know if she dared to wield it. She crossed the two steps to him slowly, raising her eyes to meet his as she grasped the wand and felt that first meeting between wand and witch or wizard. This wand was sizing her up, and she did the same to it. It was hard and unyielding, like its master, but there was a tremendous rush associated with it as well. Her hair blew up briefly in a sudden breeze which died down equally quickly.

"I thought it might accept you," Voldemort said, his expression cool while his eyes were alive with many thoughts. "Try it."

Hermione looked around the room, eyeing the chandeliers thoughtfully before she cast nonverbally. A chandelier exploded in an arc of shattered crystal. She turned back to Lord Voldemort.

"What is different from your wand?" he asked precisely, and Hermione knew the lesson was well underway.

"It is much more demanding to master. I have to be absolutely intent on the spell for it to perform for me, but it is extremely powerful." Hermione would not deny that the wand was a powerful one, but the willpower of the caster and master of this wand must be absolute for it to give its allegiance. She sensed that the wand was grudgingly obeying her, but she had little doubt that it still worked beautifully for Tom. She realized that in offering the use of his wand, he was giving her another insight into him—which confused her even more. She would have to think about that again later.

"Correct," he said, circling behind her. "Now, I was trying to teach you control. I believe given your difficulties that it will be easier for you to learn how to cast again."

"What do you mean?"

He was close behind her again, almost a mirror of their practices for DADA. "You've already moved more toward wandless magic with _Heka_. Now you must relearn how to cast with a wand. You summon your magic, form the intent, channel it, and then summon the wand to direct it."

Hermione thought for a minute about this. "I don't follow you."

He drew alongside her, meeting her gaze with a sideways glance. "Put your hands on top of mine."

Hermione had to stand between his arms, pressed quite close to him, in order to put her hands on top of his. His wand poked her uncomfortably in the pocket of her robes, but she paid it no heed.

"Now," he said, his voice warm and close to her ear in the manner he seemed to prefer for instructing her, "Close your eyes and allow your magic to blend with mine. Then you will feel what I do before I cast."

She was a bit more prepared for that warm, dark rush as his magic claimed hers, the interweaving beginning to feel welcome, necessary. "Now," he breathed, and she felt him gather his magic, building it effortlessly before funneling it and fusing it through his wand. She heard the roar of flames, and felt the heat buffet against them.

"Open your eyes," he said, and Hermione saw a chimera of flames rampaging around them, a hydra morphing into a gryphon and then a snake.

"Fiendfyre," she breathed, and he answered her. "Yes. A difficult spell to control unless you have controlled your magic before casting."

She could feel him controlling it still, but it was hard to describe it, as if the wand was giving his natural control structure and form. He diminished it easily, the flames growing white hot as they shrank until, finally, he ended the spell and the flames disappeared with a shriek like the whistle of a tea kettle.

Hermione's eyes closed, her breath coming out in soft exhales through her open mouth. He was more intense, his magic endlessly deeper, flavored with nuances that made it even more attractive to her, like the perfect complement that drew out the depth in her own. He let his hands drop slightly and her own instinctively followed them, the magic that had risen unbidden at her fingertips in response to his casting playing with his aura. His breath hissed inward quietly, a telling reaction.

"You see."

His voice was a welcome interruption of the cascading effects that lingered between her hands and his own. Hermione knew that he was speaking of more than just the spell or the casting.

"Yes, I see."

She folded her arms in, bringing his with hers, an embrace that both accepted. This time she knew it when he pressed a kiss to her hair.


End file.
